


Conversations with Shamans

by SoupShue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Some Swearing, in a 'so much trauma we don't talk about it' sort of way, vague mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupShue/pseuds/SoupShue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you try and have a straight conversation with a Shaman, you might not get the answers you were expecting</p><p>Or "Shamans may be verbal ninjas...or deliberately annoying...you'll never know"</p><p>Or "Coulson gets so many headaches" </p><p>Or "People need slaps sometimes, Coulson wants to give out those slaps"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coulson Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mari_Knickerbocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/gifts).



> Here Mari...have a thing. I'm blaming you and Avery for this rabid plot bunny. Have this weird thing that grew plot like a WEED. it was supposed to be a little thing and it turned into THIS. So Merry Unbirthday!

“If you crush my rosemary plants Coulson,” the words startled Phil a little-she was facing away from him wearing a large straw hat to keep the sun off but really he shouldn’t have been surprised “I will be very upset, and you will reimburse me the cost of new plants.” Marina murmured this to him quietly and evenly not bothering to look up as she continued attacking the rows she’d dedicated to blue tansy and lavender with a hoe. “Spare gardening gloves are in my work bucket, there’s a trowel on the rock wall by the gate, the onions, the tomatoes, and the potatoes need to be weeded. You can take your pick.”

“I am in a three piece suit.” Was the incredulous response as he stared her down, one hand shading his eyes from the bright sun. Marina neither slowed nor turned to face him. She was dressed sensibly for garden work in a worn, light colored three quarter sleeve button down, faded jeans, and ratty work boots. A pair of brightly colored sensible work gloves covered her hands. Her long hair was tightly braided away from her face and the tail was coiled and tucked into a soft pink kerchief to keep it out of the way. She wasn’t even paying him true attention, more focused on getting the weeds out from around the tender herbs than whatever he wanted.

She didn’t even bother replying with words and she rolled her eyes even though she knew he couldn’t see them as she kept right on hacking at the stubborn crabgrass and dandelions in the row with vicious fervor. Clearly he wanted something from her but she wouldn’t be worth her salt as a shaman if she couldn’t act appropriately contrary and mysterious in the face of blatant inquiry. Really, what other fun in life was there if she couldn’t torment her fair few share of SHEILD Agents?

The sun was warm on Marina’s back and the bits of her exposed forearms between the cuffs of her shirt and the edges of the gloves, the soil was damp and yielding, the smells coming off the tansy and lavender were bright and relaxing, and there was a gentle caressing breeze to cool her face. She loved being out in the gardens taking in all the smells and textures and sounds. There were only two things wrong with her previously perfect afternoon. Phil Coulson was attempting to bore holes in her back with his eyeballs and the weeds were annoying the crap out of her.

Marina hated dandelions in general, but with a burning passion when they were in her garden beds. Dandelions were inevitable in cleared land, but they were a downright murderous nuisance in a garden bed. They had strong, flat laying, ground hugging leaves, flimsy stalks and deep, deep roots. Perfect victims for her rage and displeasure, nobody got upset if she caused carnage to a bunch of nuisance flora. If she imagined the heads and hearts of her enemies while wielding dangerous garden tools, nobody was the wiser.

She heard him sigh when the laser beams of his ‘I am a serious shadowy Agent’ expression did absolutely nothing, and his ‘there are serious matters to discuss’ weighty silence failed to cow her into submission. Was he really that naive? Coulson was not unintelligent, the man had watched her face off against the tyrannical toddler with a ‘tude that was Nicholas Fury, did he expect those weak attempts to floor her? Did he expect her to yield to his pressures like a well-trained, trusting horse on her home turf? Not going to happen.

Phil gave it up- he’d known the usual Agent bravado wouldn’t work, but it seemed to be his default mask when nervous- and decided to go for full blown disclosure with this formidable woman. He was uncomfortable with and tired of Lynn disappearing every time he entered the tower, while he could totally understand her fear of the Agent Coulson side of him, he felt a need for her to see and perhaps get to know the softer, more approachable Phil side of him too. The side Natasha and Clint enjoyed when they were just hanging out and reminiscing. He couldn’t even show her that side of himself if she refused to be present when he was around. Phil also felt the need to apologize to her, but he didn’t know how and she was more contrary than a cat when it came to any type of interaction.

“How can I get Lynn to talk to me? I want to get to know her and have her get to know me, maybe help repair the damage that SHIELD has done to her. I feel bad about everything Nick put her through, besides which, she’s soul bonded to both of my best agents and she is absolutely terrified of me.” He finally just blurted it out into the soft summer air. She went absolutely still. He flinched when the hoe was violently thrust through the root cluster of a bunch of crabgrass and Mem whirled to face him.

The look on her face was alarming, fierce and hot. She fisted her hands on her hips, glaring up at him past the floppy brim of her huge sun hat. It should have made her look ridiculous, but she was a terror to behold.

“What?” The word was bitten out viciously, like it left a horrible taste in her mouth and she had to rid herself of it.

“Lynn doesn’t stay on the same floor of the Tower as I am when I visit, she’s still extremely avoidant of all people, but especially of myself, Thor, Bruce, and Tony. I expected this, though her avoiding Thor confuses me a little. Anyway, I would like to get to know her and have her get to know us, I figured you were the best person to ask about how to go about trying to accomplish that without hurting her.” His expression turned softer, more open, more like Phil instead of Agent Coulson, but Mem was not soothed.

“You have no idea what you are asking. I thought you were an intelligent SHEILD Agent, but you really have no idea what you’re doing. None.” The sorrow in her eyes was a deep, fathomless well. Phil had trouble meeting that gaze head on. There was rage like an icy film at the forefront yes, but a depth of sorrow and pain and suffering he cannot even begin to guess at beneath that. It freezes him to his spot between the rows of rosemary plants and the parsley. She pins him for a while longer- an age, an eternity, a second. Time seems irrelevant in that space with her and the immense weight of ghosts and the secrets whispered in the dead of darkest night that she carries before she sighs inaudibly through her nose and whirls away. Phil is left speechless and stunned for a few moments as he remembers how to breathe.

While Phil was still reeling, Mem grabbed her hoe out of the crabgrass and began walking away, hips swinging as she danced slowly and carefully through the rows of herbs and flowers. She’d come to the garden to relax, bleed off the energy and stress and heaviness of being the ear for the clan. They knew to leave her in peace and silence if they came to help her with the plants- the garden was her place of joy, of reconnection, a haven. Her sanctuary had been invaded and she needed to cool down.

Marina was no stranger to pain and trauma none of the clan were. It was a fact that no shaman escaped working through the endless slubs, tangles and unholy knotted messes in the tapestry of threads unscathed- humans were complicated and contrary creatures prone to wrapping in and around each other and tugging the warp and weft of the world too tight. Often. And repeatedly. Sometimes a few of the pluckier daredevils or crazy fanatics would try going so far as to rend tiny little tears in the fabric - when people managed that it was not a good day. Coulson was heading into territory that could very well rip Lynn apart past the point of repair and he was doing so without realizing it like nearly every other non-shaman before him barring those Lynn worked with at the Bakery. If her soulmates didn’t do it first. Lovely.

Marina did not want to deal with this today. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off the inevitable tension headache that she had JUST managed to shed (damn you Agent Coulson) as she came up to the far gate that led out into the back pasture and the woods beyond. Her hand was on the latch and the gate halfway open when Coulson seemed to shake himself from the near- trance she’d put him into.

“Wait. Please. Listen to me.” The words were not an order, not a demand said in his Agent tone of voice, nor were they a desperate plea. Phil Coulson was as always, calm cool and collected and his words were no less now. He continued talking when she paused in the gateway.

“We need your help now, if you don’t help, Lynn is going to get hurt. People are going to hurt and be hurt if you don’t help, not just Lynn but the other members of the Tower. You’re her family and you know her better than anyone else on the planet, if you don’t help, some of the responsibility for her pain will rest with you.” Marina stiffened and growled a little under her breath. Smarter than she’d first thought. Damn him.

“This is not a talk for the garden Agent, this is NEVER a talk for the garden. I still don’t trust you- not by any stretch of the imagination.” She sent a pulse out to Aksel a wave of _need-worry-need_ wrapped in a dusky red that got his attention immediately, she felt it in the sudden taut pull of their bond and she knew he’d be waiting at the house. She pushed through the gate and stalked toward the outer edge of the pasture that led to the house. Hansel and Gretel- the pair of their most friendly goats came up to nibble at the edges of her button down while the rest of the small herd hung back and eyed her suspiciously.  

She heard Coulson start to follow.

“If you trample the plants in my garden Agent, you’re buying me new ones and you’re putting them in the ground with your own two hands!” She cried as she moved, gritting her teeth until they squeaked in protest and shooing Gretel and Hansel back to the herd as she moved through the pasture. She slammed the far gate out of sheer frustration, starling the goats. The tension headache was working its way up to migraine status. Fan-freaking-tastic.

A soothing, cool wash of _calm-peace-husssssssh_ pulsing and swirling in easy blues and minty green-greys breezed over her from Aksel. It eased the tension she was carrying enough that the threat of a migraine receded into the distance and she stopped feeling her heartbeat behind her eyeballs. Bless her heart’s heart, steady as an oak where she was flighty as a sparrow, she was so rich in her family-clan. She felt the others send inquiring, soothing slants through the weft of their tapestry and smiled, feeling the sharpest edges of her anger start to smooth away under their quiet presence. She was not alone, none of them ever had to be alone to shoulder their burdens again. It was a great feeling.    

He caught up with her at the river stone path that wound through the back yard past the dye plant garden, the grazing area for the chickens and rabbits, the rabbit hutches, and the large chicken coop to the kitchen door, thankfully he didn’t pull a cliché shoulder grab maneuver as she would have yanked on his fate string hard enough to wind him had he attempted it. Usually she didn’t meddle with fate threads like that unless it was unavoidable or an emergency, but he had pissed her off and she would have delighted in jerking him around a little.

“Please help.” Coulson said again, a sheen of perspiration beginning to cover his upper lip and sparkle at his temples from stress and walking under the midday sun in a dark wool suit. Mem was quiet for a long while as they walked, grateful he let her think.

The sight of the cabin with the open kitchen door and the increasing steady warmth of Aksel at the end of their soul string had her breathing deeper and relaxing a bit once more. The flagstones of the path broadened out at the kitchen door creating a rough patio space ringed in pots of her favorite herbs and vegetables, her largest spinning wheel was sitting off to the side in the sunshine, a pair of Fred’s dirty work boots were tossed at the edge of the stones and there was a half covered basket of Jeannine’s tatting on the chair next to the wheel. Home.

Marina moved around the patio checking over her herbs then snagged a basket from the ground beside the threshold and started pulling some scallions and clipping sprigs of mint to go with lunch.

Coulson twitched. Right. She looked at him askance over her shoulder as she moved along settling the basket against her hip as she pulled garlic and onions out of half-finished braided strands, she finally settled in the doorway to the kitchen and spoke to him. Her voice was cool and her eyes hard as she leveled a look at him.

“What shall you do if I cannot help you? What is your plan should I be unwilling or unable Agent? Would you of SHIELD and of the Tower take it upon yourselves to ‘snap Lynn out of it’ or force her into therapy?” At the shift in his expression, Mem snorted and stomped her foot, her mouth twisted into a moue of disgust and anger bordering on contempt.

“Will you really be so callous as to rip her apart again to soothe yourselves? Typical.”

“Hey now, something needs to be done. Lynn’s not functioning right now, and I can assure you that nobody in the Tower or at SHIELD wishes to harm Lynn or for that matter any of your family in any way. We certainly would not ‘rip her apart’”

Both brows shot into her hairline as Mem moved into the kitchen. She fluttered around like a whirling dervish- dropping her loaded basket onto a prep surface while hooking a foot around a three legged stool as she passed by, she shoved it out from under the worktable for Coulson. Gesturing to it abruptly as she crossed to the sink to fill the tea kettle with water. When the kettle was over a flame and a large bowl was next to her basket and a second bowl filled with other vegetables on her work space, she whipped around to face him once more. Pulling a knife from the butcher block and beginning to assemble a salad. She said nothing, only kept him pinned with a murderous expression as she dissected tomatoes and carrots and ripped into lettuce and herbs.

Aksel came in through an arched brick doorway past which Phil could just see a landing and a half dozen warm toned wood stairs. He was dusting wood shavings off of his clothing and there were flecks of yellow and green paint in his graying amber hair. He was a tall, broad, weathered, leathery tree of a man with skin tanned and conditioned by sun and wind and large, work gnarled, calloused hands.

“Explain something to me please, Agent Coulson.” He said as he walked over and slung an arm around Marina in a quick hug- he was swatted away with an admonishment to stop sprinkling treelets on the food and wash- he moved to the sink to comply before turning to help his wife and face the Agent across the counter.

“If I can, I will.” Phil replied. Leaning slightly to settle more comfortably on the stool, watching the pair of them setting up for a plentiful, light lunch of salad soup and sandwiches…it looked like the other members of the family would be joining them shortly.

“Why should we expect you, or anyone else connected to SHIELD for that matter, to handle this situation with Lynn gently now when it has been handled so roughly and badly up till this point. With axes and sledgehammers, with threats and intimidation – with men in tactical suits brandishing guns and badges in the dead of night- with lies and fear?” the question was put calmly, Aksel’s tone cordial and polite, though there was a core of steel to his words.

“Trampled my best bed of Melissa plants, the riotous thugs!” Mem snapped under her breath as she viciously crushed and minced garlic and set it to steeping in warmed olive oil. Her knife made a great deal more noise than strictly necessary against the cutting board. Aksel soothed a hand over the bunched curve of one of her shoulders as he stared Phil down. Phil met their gazes with quiet determination, relaxed in his seat on the stool in the comfortable kitchen.

Inside he was far from relaxed- in the privacy of his own mind, Agent Coulson was riotously cursing Director Nicholas Fury in every language he knew. Exactly how did Nick expect him to mend this situation to have any favorable outcomes for SHIELD? He was seriously wondering why he had even been allowed on their property, why they were cordially having a discussion instead of attempting to harm him in any number of seriously painful ways in retaliation for their brutal handling by SHIELD. He was beginning to wonder what their intentions towards his person actually were.

Two shamans staring down an Agent with intensity and perseverance are going to win that contest any day of the week. Agent Coulson eventually averted his gaze, his eyes sweeping over everything in the large kitchen. Phil had been a trained spy and handler for a very long time and that sort of training bled over into what was broadcast over a person’s fate strings. Nevertheless, the shamans were attuned to the changes. He was throwing off quiet distress colors, the subtle shift in his normal patterns and variances of color and tension were similar to ones that both Aksel and Marina were extremely familiar with – same story different book as Marina’s grandma Fran used to say. Marina and Aksel looked at each other for a long moment before Marina quirked an eyebrow and Aksel gave a short nod.

“Nothing to say Agent? No answer to give?” Marina asked, Aksel gave her a look but she didn’t care, she couldn’t resist needling him just a little bit. It was petty and immature and she knew it but it was worth it to see Agent Coulson flinch a bit at the words. To see a glimpse of flesh beneath the suit he wore as effectively as any armor- it being SHIELD issue the suit probably _was_ armored.

Phil Coulson sighed and did something neither shaman expected, he seemed to wilt slightly as he put his head in his hands and scrubbed briskly at his face for a moment before turning his eyes back to the two of them. There was a mix of emotions so complex in his face that they were not identifiable, but the small gesture of vulnerability immediately gave away his distress.

“I wasn’t aware that a team was sent to your home in such a manner. I apologize for the extremely unnecessary behavior on behalf of SHIELD, the STRIKE teams, and Director Fury.” Marina snorted and rolled her eyes.

“You of all people, Agent, should be aware that you cannot apologize on another person’s behalf. That tactic is especially unhelpful when the people you are apologizing to are aware that the ones you are apologizing for are neither repentant nor remorseful about their actions.” Her head was tilted slightly to the side as she looked him over, her hands busy with finishing soup preparation. She dusted her hands off and then turned to set the pot on the stove to heat. The tea kettle was rumbling a little now, and slight wisps of steam were beginning to trail out of the spout. Aksel moved the kettle off the heat and set it on a trivet before taking down a delicate cream colored porcelain teapot decorated with songbirds.

“Which blend today _hovenisbeit_?” He asked, his voice a pleasant rumble as he turned to a row of metal canisters on a low shelf by the stove, each hand labeled. Jeannine came in to the kitchen through the outside door, she froze for a moment upon spying Coulson sitting at the worktable, but collected herself and stepped over to Marina. After a brief lean on Marina’s shoulder which earned her a gentle pat on the shoulder, Jeannine moved the large salad bowl over to the table then took a loaf of bread out of a drawer to place in the bread warmer before beginning to set the table. Mem nodded at herin approval, pointed to a canister labeled ‘invigoration’ for Aksel and turned to Coulson as though no interruption had taken place. 

“Fury would attempt such a maneuver again if he thought it would sway us to his way of thinking. Nobody on that team believed they were doing wrong and they were not remorseful. Well you know it to be true. Don’t think any of us are so naïve as to believe anything else is the truth.” She pointed out blandly as she carried a tray filled with earthenware dishes of infused oils, sandwich fixings, and salad dressings to the table.

Aksel moved to the door that led to the outside and gave an ear splitting whistle. “It will take the boys a few minutes to come in dear,” he pointed out mildly when Marina smacked him, “They will be on time for the soup to come to the table.” He turned and leaned against the corner of the work table facing Coulson.      

“If we trust you so little is it any wonder Lynn trusts you less than that?” He asked, his face open and relaxed though the atmosphere of tension still hung about the room like a shroud.

“No, it is not. I do not blame her for mistrusting any of us. How do we begin to repair the damage done though? Neither of you has given insight into that yet.” Phil pointed out mildly.

“There is nothing to explain! Have you not been listening?” Marina snapped, glaring at him from over her shoulder as she washed dishes.

“There is nothing to explain, because there is nothing to be done.” Aksel ground out, for all the world looking like a frustrated professor explaining the same information to a student for the thousandth time, “Some hurts in this world can be solved by action, some injustices repaired with words, still others with a kind and gentle presence and a listening ear. There are some hurts in this world Agent for which none of those salves have any effect. Hurts so grievous and deep that there are no bandages big enough to cover them. You and your SHEILD Agents and your Avengers are not unfamiliar with these wounds, why is it so hard to believe that others may experience them?”

“Much as you may think otherwise, you lot do not have the corner market on world shaking suffering and pain. The great white whale of trauma is not one that you should ever attempt to hunt down and catch. Let it be, let Lynn be. I thought you were all much more intelligent than this Agent Coulson- that is what Fury seems to think.” Marina’s words were bitter and mocking, they flayed against him like physical lashes and he mused that Lynn was not the only one in this family to experience trauma and pain.

Aksel turned to look at his wife, a slow, sweeping assessment in which a silent conversation took place. He walked over and took Marina’s face in his hands, kissing her forehead once, he leaned back to look her in the eyes. He sighed gustily and looped an arm around her shoulders as he looked back to Coulson.

“What have you to say now Agent, what more could we give? You have not laid your weapons down, nor taken your armor off, yet you come speaking of peace and healing. Neither has anyone at SHIELD or in the Tower bothered to have done so, and yet you expect us to come quietly and cooperate, to become your weapons and to share all of our secrets. You expect Lynn to not only let you see the ragged and raw edges of herself, but to let you close enough to do more damage and somehow trust that you will not. Forgive me if that seems recklessly foolish. Why should any of us dare to do so? Least of all the one with the most recent of traumas to work through! You have not given us any answers. Why should we give you ours?”

“Thought you said you had hope for this one Aksel?” Fred remarked as he came in, trailed by Mates and David.

“I did my boy, I did. Don’t underestimate anything.” Aksel rumbled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The whole family chuckled softly at this and moved to sit around the laden table. Phil rose to join them when Marina motioned to him.

“Please don’t talk about me like I am not quite capable of understanding you while I am in the room. It irks me.” Phil replied pleasantly as he sat at the table, his eyes hard.

“Don’t mind the boys Phillip, everyone is on edge today. Now eat and let us know when Lynn is going to be allowed to leave that blasted Tower Stark likes to hide in so very much.”

At this questioning statement, Phil’s brows shot upwards and his posture went stiff in a jerk. He looked around the table at the serious, alert, curious faces in surprise.

“Lynn can leave Avengers Tower whenever she feels like it. Nobody is mandating that she stay there, she is not a prisoner!” he said, genuinely shocked as he realized that the people arranged before him genuinely believed that Lynn was being held against her will.

“Do you see Lynn among our number? Are any of our family missing besides her? If what you say is true, why is it that she is not here and that whenever we visit that blasted Tower, people start bandying about Psychobabble words like ‘enmeshment’ and ‘unhealthy relationships’ and ‘dynamic imbalance’ and attempt to monitor and ‘adjust’ our interactions until we feel as though it is best for us to leave? And they do this and feel justified in their actions based on footage taken from Lynn’s hospital room during an intense and complex situation, and closely observed, awkward encounters at the bloody Tower that in no way reflects our day to day existence or relationship! What the fuck is wrong with you people!” David roared, slamming his hands down on the table, as he shot daggers at Phil, Mates had to put a calming hand against his shoulder to ensure peace at the table.

Phil sighed, it was going to be a long day.


	2. Coulson Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson gets a lot more than he bargained for, and realizes he may never have the upper hand...but somehow that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mari Mari Mari.....Avery's bugging me now, and she's not even MINE...what bug have you bitten me with and what on earth are you feeding this plot bunny with?!!?!

“She was panicking last time I was there, the pressure to do and be and say more, to become what she is not was eating at her and she was panicking and she was pleading and begging for me. None of you cared. She is not likely to forget that, neither am I.”

At the start to this next piece of the tirade, Coulson winced. He’d heard about this, seen the footage after the fact when he’d requested it from JARVIS. There was some sort of massive miscommunication, Sam and Thor had been crowding in on Lynn’s space without being aware, David had tried to get them to back off, but he’d been too vague and discreet. Something else known only to David and Lynn had already frightened her and she’d ended up hiding, tucked away in the common room- and she’d had a panic attack. Sam had ordered everyone out of the room, David hadn’t complied. He’d apparently been aware of some signal Lynn was putting out that they were not, but the other members of the Tower had tried to force it until Natasha came on the scene and backed him up.

                It had taken David five minutes to get Lynn calmed down. The recordings from JARVIS were a thing of beauty. David had put the rest of them to shame, even Sam with his Psych degree and experience working with war victims hadn’t managed it that smoothly or calmly. Looking back, Phil could now see that that display alone should have told all of them something, but he’d been more focused on diffusing the tensions between Natasha and Sam and Thor and talking Clint down. His fault that he hadn’t given Lynn and her family equal priority status to the rest of his team long before now. If he had, the outcomes might have been vastly different.

Now David was extremely upset and angry, and whatever warm and fuzzy feelings he had had for those in the Tower that he didn’t know well from Medical had diminished to zero. Phil hated that they had tried to take David out of the room, but there was nothing he could do to interject and explain because David bulldozed all of his attempts. The pain in his voice was as present and jarring as a clenched fist around broken glass.

“They tried to throw me out of the room when Lynn was having a panic attack! They acted like I was wrong to want to comfort my sister in a place I know she feels she cannot leave when she was in pain! They turned my concern and affection into something false and dirty and now I must deal with repairing those holes in our relationship! It’s entirely your feckin’ bloody godawful fault! No Mates I am so fucking sick of this. I am fucking tired of Agents telling us who we are and what we are and what we are allowed to be and do when they don’t even fucking KNOW us, and they never fucking will!” Dave’s tirade snapped the wire of nervous tension with gusto, and he flung himself out of his seat and fled into the interior of the house. Nobody else moved. All eyes were on Agent Phillip J. Coulson and not on Dave. They knew what Dave would do, Coulson was the wild card.

“There have been many catastrophic miscommunications. That is a fact that is undeniably true, I will not try and deny it. Miscommunications that have sorely wounded everyone at this table and I am sorry for them, each and every one, but it is my hope that we can find a way past the injuries that have occurred and work toward a common goal.” Phil began, keeping his voice soft and his gaze brief as he looked over each of the people still seated at the table.

He wasn’t going to be allowed to finish his entreaty.

“You say that, and yet you have tried and, apparently, will continue to attempt separating and isolating us until we will cooperate with what you wish.” Mates murmured as he stared Phil down, coldly, his eyes hard and nearly reptilian, they seemed to reflect Phil’s gaze back at himself like mirrors and they made him nervous. Very, very nervous.

                “I didn’t understand the situation fully. I’m sorry, I still don’t. I didn’t mean to make anyone so upset, I just wanted help, for us and for Lynn.” Phil murmured softly into the unnatural stillness in the kitchen. The warm, slightly tense and untrusting, but warily accepting atmosphere had been abruptly removed and he felt like he could no longer breathe- like they were sitting in a vacuum.

                “For a master spy, you have surprisingly little information, it is not we who appear simple and naïve now Agent- Fury’s Good Eye. It is you. But I think perhaps that this lack of understanding is not entirely your fault.” Jeannine remarked quietly into the heavy air, her eyes light upon Phil but all the more disturbing for their feathery touch. With her words, the others began to soften, her very quiet and gentle nature as well as the waves of soft golden light easing them back down. She was the falling snow to Dave’s raging brushfire, unassuming but powerful. She had amazing control over the threads between those who were not yet allies, the riotous groups and the volatile crowds. She could ease and gentle the angriest of mobs, and she was using that power now. Though it cost her very dearly- the whole clan could see and feel that it cost her. She disliked the Agent more for all of the very painful memories he forced to the surface, the grip of a past she couldn’t tame, and it cost her to gentle a situation involving Agents, but especially him.

                Mates took it upon himself to cradle Jeannine in a soft harness of _safe-present-here-now- safe_ swaddling her in a blanket of smooth heather grays and quiet beach sand and earth tones. Mates was one of their best anchors, and under his carefully focused attention, Jeannine settled slightly. Marina knew he saw in Phil what Aksel did, but she could not bring herself to be okay with having Phil in her space. She couldn’t forgive this violent upheaval to their sanctuary, not for the third time. She couldn’t trust he wasn’t going to turn around and do horrible things with any information they gave him, not the way they’d all been treated thus far.

Her migraine was back, full force and ugly, but she recognized the clan’s need to have her in the here and now, the situation was balanced on the knife’s edge and she had to help Aksel steer it into more neutral territory, they would have to give some and hope that this man they could not yet trust didn’t try and take more that was offered. Marina hated being that vulnerable. Especially where her chickies were concerned. She sighed softly, looking down at her hands as she spoke, unable to look Agent Coulson in the face as she opened the barest edge of the outermost gate to knowledge for him.

“Lynn, like most sane, non-rebellious people, won’t act if she feels like she doesn’t have permission. Especially if she feels like she will be barred from or punished for doing it, if she recognizes a BOUNDARY. All of you have put up very clear boundaries to her. Boundaries that forbid her contact with the people she trusts and loves, and you displayed the power of negative consequences should she disobey. Even if that was not what you believed your intentions, or your end goal to be. To her keen observations that is what your intentions are.” The Agent’s mouth dropped open and he bristled like he was about to protest, but Marina threw a hand up and glared at him unmercifully, he would hear the truth whether or not he liked it. She was going to give him what he had asked for. It was well past time for hoping anyone would understand by observation, it was all too clear that they were looking too closely at the situation. Agent Coulson closed his mouth.

“You people are masters of saying one thing and meaning another and acting on the motivations of a third, unnamed thing. I called Fury out on it in her hospital room, she was present as were you and Widow and Hawkeye. Yet all of you act like she’s too stupid to understand what you are really saying or what you really mean! Why do we now have to turn back around and spell out what it is that you have done? Why must we explain YOUR actions to you when they are yours and yours a-fucking-lone! Really.”

The words were flat and dead, they fell from her mouth like stones and she hated every one of them. Marina knew he was not necessarily directly to blame for the clan’s pain involving SHIELD, not entirely- most of that rested firmly in Fury’s greedy little paws. But he was here, and he was much too convenient a target, and she was hurting. She took a breath and pulled herself together, but this was so hard and it knocked against all of her sore edges. Now she had to hold not only her reaction, but Jeannine and David and somehow get through this like a grownup when she really just wanted to deck the Agent across the face. Then yell about his being a righteous bastard and a fanatic zealot who refused to understand the simple truth that his Director was not the man he thought he was.

The clan could sense the Agent’s sorrow and unease, his confusion, the anger and frustration. Yet the solid belief in SHIELD was ever firm and faithful. He had no idea what was coming, and it was going to crush him, but the man wouldn’t listen to the warnings flashing in front of his own two eyes. Blindly refusing to believe that Fury’s intentions were anything but noble or healthy. A fool’s hope and a child’s trust.

“Every one of our family is steeped in trauma like a bitter tea. Lynn most of all. We are bound together by suffering and pain, by circumstances beyond our control and we help each other. We are the family we chose, the family each of us needed in a desperate place. SHIELD has done nothing but attempt to destroy that. Everyone at the Tower refuses to understand it.” Mates bit out, his rage carefully controlled in deference to Jeannine’s precarious hold on the threads in the room and her need for anchor, but seething just under the surface. It was a trumpet call- a steady, cacophonous chord that thrummed loudly and was echoed in the tensions of the clan’s weave. Everyone was being pulled to the rending point by all of this, Agent Coulson’s untimely visit had only exacerbated the situation, and the tapestry was stretched too taut, and it was showing. Badly showing.

“All of you are too busy looking for what MIGHT be there to see what truly IS. Lynn is too busy focusing on what truly IS to trust what MIGHT be there. And you pass each other by in the night. You are focusing on what has been in her past to get to what could be her future, and Lynn is focusing on the present.” Aksel murmured, spooning salad into his bowl and spearing sandwich meats from the tray.

His voice rang out, quiet and soft, yet ringing, and it made everyone pay attention. Aksel was there in their weave, steady and unwavering despite the enormous amount of fear and anger and unease. He poured a deluge of _safe-loved-home-family-clan-peace_ over all of them. They could all feel his acknowledgement of the hurt- the suffering and the pain, and the revealing of all of their bruised spots that was inevitable when talking about trauma like this to an outsider. Recognition, and an unassuming quiet offer of comfort. It soothed the clan down like nothing else in the whole world or any of the realms could. Such a powerful anchor was that tender understanding that Aksel was nearly a rock. Under his guidance and Jeannine’s quiet influence, the overwhelmingly unbearable _PULL_ of negative emotionsthe clan was experiencing slowly eased back.

“The only two people outside of the clan that are even remotely connecting to Lynn are Hawkeye and the Widow, and it is not because they are soulmates. They are paying attention. Attention that doesn’t come from direct overt, clinical observation, but attention that comes from a place of stillness and understanding. The Tower knows at least some of her background. Did none of you realize how your hyper focus would be perceived? Tell me now Agent. In your own words. How is Lynn feeling about this?” Aksel forced it to be a question. Knowing full well that the only way Agent Coulson would understand would be if he were forced to actually _see_ the problem instead of just looking at it. Aksel was just as angry as the rest of his family-clan. At Fury for deliberately blinding his ‘one good eye’ with half-truths and outright lies, at the Agent before them for allowing himself to be blinded and led along despite his obvious intelligence and keen wit, at the members of the Tower for blundering so badly with Lynn after all that had already been done, and at himself for insisting that his wife and Mates were the only two needed at the beginning of this whole debacle- for not listening to Marina’s concerns when he knew better. They were all paying the price now, and Lynn most of all. Aksel was kicking himself hard. Very, very hard.

“Afraid.” Coulson answered immediately, flatly. Ah. “Lynn is feeling afraid.” A simple answer that said nothing.

“Yes, Agent, but _WHY??_ Why is Lynn feeling so afraid?” Aksel pushed. The Agent bristled. He didn’t like being pushed. Nobody did. Why would he think Lynn enjoyed it any better?

“My guess is that intense observation is negative because it is associated with pain and violence, her past with HYDRA has not been pleasant.” Came the slow reply.

“Not just with HYDRA Agent, think now. With whom else?” Aksel was not feeling generous, why was the Agent acting like a toddler? He was NOT stupid, he had handled this kind of trauma before, yet with Lynn he was floundering around so badly that it was almost insane. Aksel’s eyes bored into the Agent’s keeping up the pressure, refusing to back down despite the Agent’s obvious discomfort. See how he liked it- the feeling of being skewered over and over and over by eyes- the pressure that didn’t let up.

Coulson knew the answer clearly. He was ashamed. He hated admitting such a weakness and glaringly bad oversight- not as much as Fury did, nobody hated admitting weakness as much as Nick- but recognized the need to do so. They were waiting for him to do so. He was surrounded by cool, keenly aware, assessing gazes. He felt trapped and alone. _They are brilliant, scarily brilliant._ Phil was forced to admit to himself silently as he became aware of exactly what they were doing. He disliked it. He kicked himself again mentally, they had really screwed up with Lynn. Why, oh, why had he listened to Fury’s plan? It had seemed a bit extreme, if sensible, at the time. Now it was glaringly idiotic. Overkill. _Why Nick, why the hell would you do this?_ He lamented silently to himself, grateful that the bland, calm, blank Agent’s mask he wore had been so perfectly honed over the many years he had been a spy. Though he had a very disconcerting feeling that they could all see right through him. He sighed, it would have to be done- they clearly needed it. So, for that matter, did Lynn. Fuck. That was going to be a challenge.

“SHEILD. SHEILD hurt her, so did the Avengers. Badly. We focused on her past, what she could do, how. Tried too soon to get her to talk. Nick wanted her to explain her talents, and yours.” Once he made his mind up, he admitted it quickly, better to rip the band aid off then peel it slow. They all nodded as one. It was very disconcerting.

“Exactly. You delved too deeply. Lynn is too fragile to deal with her past while her present is still covered in bleeding wounds. That is where the focus must be, present. Here and now. But none of you trust her enough to know her own mind. You see only the outer shell of her fear, her rightly placed fear. And you push and you push to break her walls down. To see beyond what is already too much trauma into the abyss. This is not only very unwise, it is also abusive.” At this, Phil actually flinched and hissed. But Aksel continued before he could form a reply.

“You are trying to break a thing to see how it is made. You are trying to break a PERSON to see how she was formed. She will not break unless she shatters so completely that the damage is insurmountable. I trust that this is not truly your goal. Even if your actions state otherwise.” Aksel stated calmly, though his jaw was clenched, and his teeth were gritted tightly together.

Shame rolled off of the Agent like a tidal wave. They’d finally gotten through the stubborn shell of his loyalty and made him see sense. If only a little bit of sense.

“No, that’s not our goal, and what you’ve said makes sense. I am still confused on how exactly we are supposed to attempt to do as you are suggesting, when we have erred so badly and hurt her so much, I am unsure how we can fix any of the damage done.” Phil stated calmly. He was a wreck. He would need time to face his part, SHIELD’s part, the Avenger’s part in Lynn’s trauma. They could feel him trying to organize his emotions and reactions, but it was a testament to his training and his compassion and his intellect that he could admit such a grievous blunder, move beyond his denial so quickly, and begin to ask about damage control. Sincerely. They could feel his sincere desire to help, perhaps Aksel was correct about him after all.

Marina could also tell that he was trying to piece together exactly what they were. What they could do. They were throwing enough energy into their strings and their weaves that he could feel it, and was yielding to it, and that freaked him out a lot. He needed another focus as he absorbed the blow that had wounded him. So now he was going to try and figure them out. Marina was not in a sympathetic mood. He’d asked for it. Pushed for it. Now he was reeling when they’d not sugar coated anything nor pulled their punches. Marina snorted. They’d been pissed. What had he expected? Unicorns and chocolate rainbows?

“There is nothing to explain because the answer is simple. Back off. Leave her be. Be honest. Your intentions must match your actions, your actions must match your words. Clearly explain to her what you want. Mean it. If she wishes to leave, to have space, to find other ways to be secure, for gracious sake, let her. This is not some form of rocket science. This is something even small children can understand. You lot were just focusing on all the wrong things and pushing all of the wrong buttons.” Marina murmured, brows shooting upwards again as she gave him a very you-are-dimwitted-when-you-are-fishing-for-things look.

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. The dead keep it. The way is shut.” Jeannine snapped, staring directly into Coulson’s eyes as she said it. Phil startled again, Jeannine had gone so quiet that in the wake of everyone else’s emotions and focus, he’d let her slide into his periphery…who were these people?!

“Just so, Dear Heart, just so.” Aksel murmured in agreement, leaning over the table to grab the bread and a dish of infused oil. Effectively breaking the residual tension in the room and switching the focus back to a more soothing activity. The food was plentiful and delicious, if the happy and contented sounds were to be believed but Phil was hesitant to eat any of it until Marina looked up from her bowl of mixed greens to quirk an eyebrow.

“Really Agent, if we had wished you bodily harm, we would already have done so. None of us would be so daft as to ruin a good meal with poison and a dead body at the dinner table. I love this table, I would so hate to have to burn such fine workmanship. Eat.” Her tone was one of wry amusement that got a small chuckle from the rest of the group sans David who had yet to re-appear, and when she had finished speaking, she dropped her head back down and continued with her salad. The group was quiet, thoughtful, wary and retreating, though much more relaxed than they had been even a few minutes before.

Chastised and humbled and recognizing the extremely frank honesty with which these people operated, Phil gave in with a little smirk of his own dishing some salad out on to his plate and passing his bowl to Marina for her to serve him some soup. It was delicious. He was also quiet, unwilling to break the much more easy silence, and content with not being spoken to as he had much to think about and much to discuss when he got back to the Tower. And then he was going to have to call Nick and have a very pointed discussion about disclosure and information, and then he was going to bury Nick in a metric ton of paperwork. Nick LOATHED paperwork, almost as much as he loathed the “Squishy” part of asset management.

Lynn was going to run from the Tower the second they gave her the option. They were going to have to give her the option and let her go. She needed her family far more than she needed the professionals at the Tower who had apparently completely misjudged the situation. These people weren’t trying to brainwash her, they weren’t enmeshed or trying to dominate her. Her family had a unique perspective and more information on her situation, experience with their own traumas, and her trust. They weren’t in any way attempting to harm anyone let alone one of their own- though they had reason to wish harm anyone at SHIELD he had to admit. Phil could tell that there was far, FAR more to the SHIELD problem than they were letting on about, more harms and painful experiences. But they weren’t going to admit those to him no matter what he did or said.

This family was discreet and honest and loyal, they weren’t going to trust him, they weren’t convinced his intentions were good, and yet they hadn’t escorted him off the property or shot at him. At least not with bullets. He felt vulnerable and exposed and drained. But he’d asked, and he deserved everything he was feeling. Phil had pushed, and when warnings and evasion hadn’t thrown him off the point of his visit they’d told it to him straight. Painfully and without remorse or regret. Without revealing any of what Nick wanted to know- what Phil was now very curious about himself- or any of the details of Lynn’s past that the Tower hadn’t already been aware of or hadn’t directly involved the family or SHIELD. Yet he had the feeling that they were saying far more than he had heard, but that he hadn’t caught it. He could see why Nick wanted these people. Master interrogators. Amazing candidates for PsyOps. They weren’t going to EVER be loyal to SHIELD though, that much was clear. Phil really couldn’t blame them.

Time to get to work.

Now that he had the Agent on a firmly positive and productive thinking track- the flashes coming off of him still echoed of shame and discontent, but he was also very determined. Aksel turned to damage control for his own family-clan. Fred would need some one on one time with Aksel later on- like Lynn, he was one to retreat and cover his own feelings behind a glacier only he could get around- but he was calm and coping well for now. Gently questing and finding most of the clan truly relaxed enough to eat and breathe almost normally and not just play acting for the Agent in the room so that he wasn’t as worried for them as he had been, Aksel turned his attention to Marina and David. David’s strings had him very concerned. They were pulsing with the angry steel gray of thunderclouds, deep and roiling, the brash trumpet like notes of anger and violent pain still running through him in sharp contrast to the tense, but relaxing notes coming off of the rest of the clan. _Ach, David my boy, peace._ Was the lament Aksel knew David was not ready or willing to hear yet, not yet.

David still needed time to process his own fear and anger. Coulson had ripped a just formed scab off of his soul without meaning to. Aksel silently cursed the immature mindset at the Tower, how pitifully unaware they were of others’ pain! They had done mighty amounts of damage to the son of his heart, the very most tender and caring core of their clan. Their nurturer. What was worse was that they had no way of knowing just how painful the wounds were, how deeply they had gone. Refusing David the opportunity to provide help and comfort to one he loved and cared for was the worst possible sort of injury they could have made, and he would never trust those at the Tower in the same way again.

He needed to be alone for now, too raw and hurt even to accept the passive, gentle warmth of the clan whom he knew and loved and trusted deeper than any others. He had slammed the door to their connections. Aksel hurt for his son, hoping that he would not resort to the awful patterns of the past, but knowing that if they invaded his space before he was ready it would only cause his temper to flare hotter- David used his anger as a shield to cover himself and protect himself from more pain. They were human and they had to be very careful not to wound one another, much as Aksel might want to force it, it was very, very unwise.

Marina was valiantly hiding a wicked headache from the others, the tension and stress and violence of their emotions and need for reassurance on top of the anger she had for the situation and the flashback that had woken her early this morning finally overtaking her ability to cope well. After lunch if Coulson did not make a move to leave on his own, Aksel would have to force the issue, they all needed space and time to cool off, to re-gather themselves and shore up their mental and emotional defenses. He quested along the soul bond he shared with Marina, his partner and wife, his _hovenisbeit,_ his love, and found to his amusement that she was questing back- the tingling jolt they both received when their inquiries met startled her a little. She looked over at him and he saw the steadfast love there for him, and the muted fear that had him cursing the necessity of allowing the Agent even the surface level leeway as he had been given today.

He breathed with her, so connected that they did so without thought as he sent her wave after wave of soothing, refreshing peace. Ever so slowly easing the corded tension at the base of her neck and skull with infinite patience, knowing if he was too abrupt or forceful she would shut him out and go to the garden to pound out her anger on the weeds again. Knowing her as he did, she would probably still retreat to the gardens with a vengeance. She forgot sometimes in the depths of her wrath that he was so connected to her at times that he could feel the murderous glee that surfaced when the garden needed weeding, he knew her like he knew the backs of his own two hands. He didn’t begrudge her the outlet for this rage, they all had their own. The hardest lessons for their young ones to learn was that it was okay to feel all of the emotions that they experienced, it was the actions borne out of those emotions that became the problem. Re-learning such vital information was hard on all of them, conditioned and trained as they had been by their pasts to lock themselves deep inside and to show only the most surface shells in order to survive. He sighed, and as he did, so did Marina, but the awful vice-like tension that had gripped her began to lessen under his methodical attention. She would come to him sore, hurt and frustrated, begging for a massage after hours of hiding from him later. She was skittish when she needed care, was his _hovenisbeit_ but he did not blame her.

They all had right to fear what the Agent would do with the information he had been given, but Marina would feel the brunt of the backlash if this went horribly. She was the soul of the clan, the one all of them turned to first in the midst of pain and terror and crisis. In her own ways she was as much, if not more of an anchor in their tapestry than he was himself. Easing and gentling their wounded places as quietly and softly as any loving mother with her child ever did, more so than any mother their fellow clan members had ever had. Not for the first time Aksel cursed the Fates for the way it so often worked- that the ones best suited to tend the Fate strings of the world were those who had suffered much cruelty and heartache and pain. Yet he also knew and acknowledged that there was a strange sort of wisdom in the Fates’ choices, for those who had suffered so greatly with the pain that the clans endured usually handled the Fate strings with the gentlest touches, and the kindest pressures. Understanding deeply from bitter experience exactly how awful the damage from rough and inappropriately timed handling could make events turn out.

Of course, then you had the small percentage of really nasty shamans who stirred up trouble out of violent, consuming bitterness and hatred. Usually the most intense or bitter conflicts had been helped along by the meddling of a shaman who had craved power in their moments of absolute vulnerability and used the power that was bestowed to twist the weft of the world in as dangerous and violent a direction as possible. Most of the global conflicts throughout the ages were, if not directly started by, than enflamed and encouraged by such shamans.  

Luckily even those shamans knew the importance of absolute secrecy. The powers of the world would kill- had indeed killed in great and bloody numbers- for the kind of influence a single clan of shamans could wield. Those who were so uniquely influential would always be equally hunted and praised, awed and feared, worshiped and cursed. It was the way of a world that strove for balance amid discord and order among chaos- look at how the world had treated those with the X gene- been born with terror, and yet treated those who had been GIFTED their powers- been made with reverence.

Ah, the illusion of control. How the world craved it- looking into the vast, yawning chasm of an inevitable, final ending and panicking trying to hold it off for as long as possible. When they could not see that it was a circle. Everything that began had an end, and began again to end again. Even the stars were born and died, there was nothing to fear from an end. Humanity seemed to believe it was the worst catastrophe ever to have existed. The end of things, and yet they were faced with it all of the time. The great civilizations of the ancient times all but erased, the more ancient clan structures before then erased to the point of near-perfect oblivion but for the remnant of the chosen in the shamans of the world, the even still more ancient beginning of the beginning of the clans erased to the point of such distant memory that it was impossible to retrieve. And that was only the youngest of the ends.

Marina shook him out of his thoughts with a very sharp tug. He looked up into her amused eyes with a question on his face that she could not help but laugh at.

“Contemplating the end of the world again, husband?” she teased, knowing the introspective look on his face, it made him smile. She continued softly with a glance at Coulson, “For now, if you please, contemplate the end of our meal and see our guest to his car.” Then she rose and with Jeannine’s help, began clearing the remnants of their meal, making up a tray for David when he was ready for food as they went. Fred and Mates quickly finished their last few bites and rose to help. It was a lighter ending to such a day than Aksel had expected and he was grateful to his clan for the trust and love they placed in him. He rose with an amused nudge to Marina and showed Coulson out the kitchen door, Coulson looked nearly as startled as Aksel had been. Good. He would come out all right even if it took him a while to do so, this man had a brain between his ears and a heart in his chest. It was evident, even when he tried to hide it.

They walked in silence around the cabin to the front door and down the path to the Agent’s typical, non-descript black SUV. Aksel leaned against the driver side door for a moment and looked the Agent up and down. Coulson looked back. For the first time today, Aksel smiled a truly genuine, honestly pleased smile at the man, who looked positively stunned.

“You may just learn something Agent Coulson, you may just learn something yet. Safe travel.” Aksel murmured quietly with a brief, sturdy clasp of the man’s shoulder as he heaved himself off the door and quickly made his way back to his clan before the Agent could respond. It was a testament to his absorption in his thoughts that he had not instinctively reacted to the shoulder clasp, oh yes, he would definitely learn.

It was going to be all right, however it turned out, the clan had each other, and they may now have the beginnings of a very unlikely ally. Aksel’s work with the Agent was done for now, now he had to tackle his family-clan. They were much more difficult than the Agent in the driveway any day of the week, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Phil was frozen to his spot for the second time that day. Really, what was it about these people?! He shook himself and sighed, looking back down the empty path with a quirked lip. They would never be boring, that was for certain. Now he had to go knock some sense into people, a pity he couldn’t take the lot of them with him to help him out, he knew without bothering to ask they wouldn’t come just yet, the burden was his alone. He chuckled, drained to the point or exhaustion and energized at the same time, climbed into his car, and drove off down the drive, at once feeling lighter and heavier than he had when he arrived. It was strange, but he found that he enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the Way is Shut." as well as a bit of the "breaking a thing" are a quote and a paraphrased quote from LOTR, I have a fancy that JRR Tolkien may have been a shaman....I don't own any of his stuff, but I couldn't resist.
> 
> Hovenisbeit- a shamanic term of endearment, no direct translation to modern languages exists, but the general gist is "one I love who is my safe place" or slightly more directly translated "the harbor of my heart and soul" Aksel is a romantic sap and he does not apologize.


	3. Avery gets Dramatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no Idea what happened. NONE. Avery swept along and was like....DRAMA! ACTING! MAKING AVENGERS Uncomfortable! No IDEA WHAT HAPPENED. Blame Avery. Also this is a weird my brain broke at seeing AoU and so was like...HERE screw the cinematic timeline ALL OF THESE THINGS HAPPEN TOGETHER AND ALSO SHAMANS....LOTS OF SHAMANS... SHAMANS CHANGE EVERYTHING! ALSO EVERYONE STAYS TOGETHER AND HULK LOVES BETTY...because Nat is Ace...and so is Clint...and so is Lynn...so AoU is not happening like the movie cause ain't no way Bruce or HULK is that idiotic or passive about ANYTHING that catastrophic so there. THERE! and this happened. I have no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another thing Mari...Avery wanted a cameo...and to yell at people...there's at LEAST a second part to this an I have no idea what she has planned.

“Now, when we go up there I need all of you to back me up. I want you to dial up the pressure you project through your strings to fifteen, stand at opening ritual attention, and act as solemn and silent as possible. Francine, you’re going to be in charge of the baby shaman, I have no patience left. Get them out of there as quickly as we are able to manage it and get their head on straight. Watch the ears and eyes, JARVIS still has the ability to hear see and record what we do, but his attention is split, so shield your conversation well.” Avery stated with a wicked smirk and twinkling eyes as she surveyed her Delegation of shamans. Fifteen of the leaders from the clans around the globe as well as the Elwood Clan minus Lynn who was inside the Tower were assembled in front of her.

“What is all the pomp and circumstance for, Avery? Lianna- one of the shamans from Europe- asked, a smile coming to her face as she observed Avery’s strings and the devilish smirk on her face. The rest of the delegation began to grin and chuckle softly despite their fatigue and frustration at the hellish mess the Avengers and especially Tony Stark had caused. The Delegation would have been much bigger than this if half of their number was not currently laid out with absolute exhaustion and requiring near full time care and grounding work. The Avengers had a lot to answer for.

“Well my dearie ducks. They want drama? Then we are going to give them DRAMA! We are going to give them a performance worthy of any global stage.” Here her tone took on a highly cultured, twanging lilt that would be the envy of any American Southern Belle and she laid the back of one hand daintily across her forehead and the palm of the other against her chest, her face taking on a completely over-exaggerated expression of devastation and sadness as she continued.

“Fury’s had his fun poking at us, it’s high time we poked him where it counts. This whole mess is almost entirely Fury’s fault, if he hadn’t made the choices he made or unraveled the strings he did or suggested and hinted at the plans he wanted to back then absolutely none- NONE- of this would have happened.”

Here she dropped the act and her voice turned deadly grave as she scanned over the assembly once more, a determined and menacing grin coming over her face. “We are on the verge of a new Age, and we are dealing with a nexus. We’re going to do our duty, but we are going to do it with **_style_** , Darlings, we are going to simply WOW them!”

The entire company began laughing in earnest. Brilliant. Avery was brilliant.

“Now do follow along, and I’ll tell you lot what the plan is.”

***

Wanda and Pietro are both lying together on a cot in Medical holding each other close whispering low and slow-labored in Pietro’s case- in Romani, Steve and Coulson are teleconferencing with Pepper talking post action paperwork and coordinating with Stark Industries Legal- International Division about repercussions and prioritizing and resourcing and circling the wagons against the WSC. Tony is alternately complaining to Coulson and SHIELD, Pepper, and JARVIS and being heavily scolded for his part in the matters at hand while cleaning and rebuilding a portion of the latest suit’s chest piece. Natasha is simultaneously aiding Bruce in treating Clint’s wounds and scolding him thoroughly in Russian and Farsi and Urdu and Mandarin and Pashtu. Clint is trying hard to find a way to laugh that does not upset his injuries or his soulmates. He is failing miserably.

The Soldier is standing statue still in the darkest corner of the brightly lit room, eyes sweeping continually for threats. He does not trust anyone in the Tower, he does not trust Himself, he does not trust his memories, and he is nervous. The programming that holds him together as the Asset is breaking down and splintering, but he cannot decide who he is underneath it all. So he searches the room for threats and hides his anxiety and anger under his face of granite and holds his knife close at his side-they stripped him of all his other weapons save the arm and he feels uneasy without their familiar weights on his body.

Lynn is hovering somewhere in the middle distance- unable to settle down with two battered but reasonably alive soulmates, one mostly dead somewhat alive superhuman Romani boy she’s having to constantly cradle and adjust in the weave to keep him even THIS stable, a twitchy Winter Soldier that she must monitor and reassure about as often as she must tug the Romani boy’s strings to this side of the light, a bunch of superheroes on a post-apocalyptic-seems-like-another-tuesday-not-really-holy-crap-we-almost-just-died! Battle High, Tony, and the threads of the Avenger’s tapestry flailing wildly as they try and integrate the trauma of the last months and the addition of the Soldier and the Twins.

Sam and the War Machine are speaking in anxious “fix the problem” tones while their eyes dart between Tony, Clint, The Soldier, the Twins, and Lynn with brief passing glances at the other occupants of the room. Lynn hates being Observed. It stretches her soul strings and grates on her nerves. At least she now knows enough about Sam if not the War Machine to know that Sam’s eyes are not immediately calculating a way to harm her. She is too focused on keeping the injured Romani twin from crashing into oblivion to care with anything more than the edge of her conscious awareness. Instead the feeling of their worry settles at the back of her neck in her subconscious mind like the buzz of a mosquito and the itch of a rash- irritating and unsettling, but able to be ignored.

Thor and Jane and Darcy are together in the lab-probably cuddling together in a sappy pile on the floor- because Jane doesn’t like being around so many injured-almost-died-no-seriously-you-guys-you-almost-died! people and Darcy is still mad at Tony and Thor is still reeling from everything that the other Romani twin pulled and needs to be around his consort and his Shield-Sister before he celebrates a battle won with his comrades. Lynn will not be surprised if he takes Darcy and Jane to visit Asgard. She is expecting it. She suspects Coulson and Steve at least expect that to be an outcome. Darcy will get to see the Three and Sif, so that will be a bushel of trouble in a field of shenanigans that will delight the team.

The one that was-and-still-is-but-also-is-not-JARVIS that they now call Vision is thankfully very easy on her soul thread work. He/It/They at least have the detached perspective of JARVIS’s calm, analytical, broad, big picture way of viewing the circumstances and are too new to their own form and altered perception of an entirely foreign, corporeal reality to be concerned about where they belong just yet. Lynn suspects that like the shamans, Vision will choose to interact with but stay slightly detached from the tapestry of the world, but it is too early to be certain. She senses no malice or ill intent in his/it/their soul threads so she is not yet concerned for him/it/them.

Lynn is exhausted with the tensions and angers and frustrations and strains of the last few months, worn down with the constant stress of managing highly volatile threads in a nexus of power, and more than ready to break her silence and start screaming and smacking people. Lynn is so tired and longing for the Clan, but they were called to a Convocation of the Ancient Rites in Sudan concerning this very group of people she is now linked to.

Sadly she had still been too new to her soul bonds and her clan bonds were stretched too thin for her to think about going. She had also been much too weak from everything that HYDRA had attempted to follow them to Khartoum. Though the healing and rest that she would have received coming into the fold of the world’s shamans would have outweighed most of the risks associated with her travelling that great a distance, it had made Natasha and Clint and Bruce very worried and so she had stayed behind.

She straightened. A slow smile spreads across her face. Merely think of them, and they shall come. With a Delegation. Avery! This was going to be fun. Some of Lynn’s exhaustion and fear and frustration ebbed away in the presence of the warmth and light and weight of her Clan’s Tapestry surrounding her, the maddening itch of the Falcon and the War Machine’s eyes dissolving under the steady support of the other members of the Delegation, and the tender, wild, fierce, hot embrace that was only Avery.

The doors to Medical swing wide, and fifteen shamans breeze into the bay. A wall of power brighter than any noon day sun. They sing like a chorus of flutes and harps over Lynn’s strings, beautiful and serene and haunting. The music is so real that it has Lynn swaying along a little to the rhythm, it is the sound and the scent and the sight of benevolent cooperation, the antithesis of what she’s been feeling from most of the residents of the Tower for the last few months and it is refreshing as a summer breeze. Assured in their own connection with each other and the world, at peace, they are a Presence that needs no introduction. They effectively freeze all activity.

Lynn smiled.

Avery-still dressed and kitted out like most of the company in the ceremonial flowing, undyed cotton trousers and shirt, bright blue sash and scarf (Avery chose to wear hers as a loose head covering with the tail ends flowing down her back) wooden beaded belt tied with her preferred herb blends and oil bottles for various purposes, as well as sentimental memory anchors for her Clan and her self- regal as any Queen steps to the head of the Delegation and addresses the assembled Avengers with a cool, raised eyebrow.

“Alright. Which one of you feckin’ brash idjits decided to go mucking about exclusively with the threads of probability. You there! Girl! Has nobody ever taught you of the consequences of unanchored threads?! Don’t look at me like I have ten heads girlie, I have one and it is functional and fully attached.” She snapped as she beckoned her second in command forward, a tall, willowy dark haired woman with soft brown eyes and olive skin. “Francine, take this girl aside and give her a preliminary lesson in the balance of things, untangling her slub filled mess at thread work left half the Convocation near fainting from exhaustion.” Avery’s other brow rose when Wanda’s hands began to glow red. The Avengers on high alert leaned toward the gathered shamans, a mix of shocked awe and angry fear rolling off of most of them. The rest of the Delegation barely moved, but their intensity of focus narrowed slightly so that it was directed more closely at Wanda.

“Stop it girl! You’re exhausted. You’ve done enough. Do you want to hurt yourself?! I’ve got a Delegation of fifteen to back me up, and unlike you we work all the threads not just the threads of probability, that mojo won’t harm any one of us or change any outcomes. Now.” Here her face and voice softened as she looked between Pietro and Wanda.

“Yer brother’s safe from harm duckie, Lynn’s got him nice and cradled. He’s not going to slip away from you, nobody here will allow that to happen. Go with Francine. Learn what it is that you have truly done, for I can see that you do not understand.” Wanda acquiesced, which sent a shockwave through the Avengers. When she had left them, and Avery felt the threads she was throwing off lessen in tension, she turned her attention back to the Avengers and Coulson on the screen. She singled Tony out of the group and speared him with a boiling hot glare. She laid into him with the intense ferocity of a starved tigress and her words were not checked. They lashed the air like white hot whips and Stark soon began to flinch.

“How absolutely dense are you Stark? Are you so drunk on your power and ego that you believe you have the entire world in your pocket? If that is the case, your efforts to become as far from the man your father was have failed utterly and you are no better than your worst memories of his actions! As long as there have been people alive on this planet there has been war. As long as there is free will and wonder and curiosity, there will also be conflict, and pain, and greed. Humans imagine what is as being different, changeable, moldable, and that is a two way street. There are two sides of the story to our humanity Stark, if you seek to deny access to the shadow than you are no better than HYDRA who sought to deny access to the light! We need both the sun and the moon to have balance in our world, we need both darkness and dawn to make a day. The only thing that will eradicate war is to eradicate humanity entirely. Am I getting through that adamantium and vibranium skull of yours!” here she paused in her tirade to grind her teeth and growl a little, but Tony was so cowed by her outburst that he didn’t even try to rebuff the statements that Avery had made.

Before anyone could interject she began speaking again.

“Do you value these people who are your comrades in battle, your friends, and your chosen family so little that you cannot listen to their doubts and fears honestly?! That does not speak of the Tony Stark that generously opened his home to the needy, the broken, and the hunted. It does not speak of a man willing to trust and be trusted in return! That speaks of the elitist drunk who built weapons, shamed his wife, and hurt his only son with his misplaced anger, ideals, and desires. That screams of fear and greed and selfish pride. If you do nothing to check those you will become what you most hated, you will have denied yourself of all that is wonderful and bright and great and giving about your brash and reckless life, and you will give in to the shadows you were trying to prevent. There is pain in vulnerability, yes, and danger. There is an exchange in power that comes with loosening our control. If you squeeze the world so tightly again, you will choke it, or it will break you. The Convocation will NOT allow that. For the good of your own mental health, and the health and safety of the Earth, Damn it man! Let these people you love above yourself help you heal! Only good will come of it, for they love you back in the same way, poor lost broken little lambs dressed in lion skins that they are. You are in good company you idiot of a Stark raving ass!”

Tony broke down in a choked sob as Avery turned her attention to Steve and Coulson. Her Glare was dark as the midnight sky on a moonless night. Coulson actually leaned back in his seat under the weight of her gaze. Steve let out a breathless hiss.

“You! Do you understand now exactly who you chose to follow out of blind, rote loyalty! You are not just the Captain! You are a man! A man with a brain and a heart and a soul! Stop letting yourself be treated like a puppet and cut the marionette strings already! Ones undying loyalty should not be placed badly or to the exclusion of all else lest we become mindless in our zealous passion. Behaving rashly in fanaticism is only more catastrophic when one can also throw money and power at the issue.

The world will always have bullies to fight, there will always be another struggle. It is the nature of humanity to attempt to break a thing to recreate it. But in order that we not lose all faith or hope in the goodness of humanity, in our ability to do good things- we need those like you who can show true compassion and kindness to the world, true empathy to the struggle and the suffering. You will not lose your voice if you leash your anger, you will gain wisdom. The old words ring true Steven Grant Rogers: Restraint is the better part of valor. Restraint! Not this brash flailing at the end of a leash long enough to strangle not only yourself but the team around you!

Wake up man! Place your loyalty in those that have earned it, in those who have proven that they are just as loyal to you as you are to them. Place your loyalty in those whose intentions you can discern and understand such as they are. No more of this foolishness, it only clouds your ability to see your true enemies.” Here she paused, dark and dangerous pressure radiating off of her strings as she closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a breath. She looked Coulson square in his digitally rendered eyes.  

“You are the biggest idiot of them all Coulson. Fury played you like a violin and you let him. You know your mistakes, you know many of his. For all that is bright and good and holy in the world, don’t you dare repeat his actions. The man was a brilliant manipulative chess playing megalomaniac of a person, he was great at his job, his agenda, carrying out his plans to further his own ends, but he quite frankly sucked as a leader. You will do well to remember all that made you uncomfortable about him and avoid it as the plague. I have faith you will be better Agent two good eyes. If you mess it up, I care not where you think you can hide in the world, we will find you and teach you manners.”

Her gaze swept over the others in the room, and her expression softened slightly as she looked Natasha over. She smiled a little.

“Ach Dearie, believe not one more word of what your residual programming says. The people who held you destroyed the house that had been built of your soul in order that they might build a weapon on the foundation, but they did not rend you to the core of your bones. Love may be for children but it is also for the rest of humanity and no matter what they told you, you are still human in your deepest of cores. Elsewise you would not have fought for freedom, you would not have found your archer- you would never have trusted any authority other than the one who made you into who and what you were.

You are human, elsewise you would not have grown and changed into the woman I see before me, tending and scolding one whom she loves. Yes, you love your archer. You are here growing and changing, working together with one who you did not trust but now revere and consider a friend. You are human. A human woman with extraordinary skills fighting to unearth the ancient bones of herself and integrate the two halves of her nature into a better whole. You are human to take under your wing another soulmate who was broken in nearly the same ways as yourself and fight for her, tend to her, listen to the brokenhearted cry of the shattered soul beyond the silence and the fear. You are human dearest, and you are as whole as any person on this earth can claim to be.

We are all broken. Not all in the same way or by the same methods or for the same reasons. But we are all broken. You are not alone Widow, and you are far more than you have ever given yourself credit for. What was forced upon you is not a measure of your worth. Failure is not always defeat, nor is it always death, you are going to survive to fight many more battles. Trust those whom you know are worthy of your trust, speak with those of your team whom you love, nobody will cast you out for failure. Failure is a part of life, and you are living- you are not carved of granite though your soul is as sturdy as a statue.”

The Widow’s expression didn’t change but every single shaman could sense many of her overstretched soul strings suddenly go lax as Avery’s words sunk in.

“Look lady, I don’t know who in the hell you think you are!” Stark began, but Avery whipped her attention back to him and cut him off as neatly as any surgeon wielding a scalpel.

“I know exactly who I am Anthony Stark. I know my own mind and my own heart and my own place in this world as surely as I know that you royally screwed the world over with your misguided ego-centric pipedream of a global scale self-destruct button. I am ancient as the setting sun, and new as the first step of Spring, I am immovable as the mountain, and as changeable as the wind. I am myself. I know who you think I am, but your perception of me is clouded by shame and anger and is not accurate.” For the second time, Avery left Stark speechless. She turned her attention to The Soldier standing still in the corner. Her gaze was kind as she swept her eyes slowly from the top of his head to the tips of his boots. Assessing every facet of the picture he made from his too wide eyes to his entirely shredded soul strings, Avery hissed and lunged forward almost too fast for the spysassins to follow until she was right next to The Soldier.

“HYDRA. Their mark is on you as surely as it is on Lynn. Like her you are strong of heart, strong of mind, and strong of spirit for they did not irrevocably shatter you. They merely teased apart the strongest threads and frayed them to make you easier to control. You may fight this as long as you must, for you trust no one, but when you are ready reach out to us, and when the time is right we shall find one another. May the peace of your present be a balm for the pain of your past. You will know whom to turn to in your hours of deepest need. Be well young warrior, be well.”

She glided back over to the Delegation of resolutely silent shamans. Her voice took on the tone of a haughty professor about to deliver a lecture as she scanned the room, her eyes still stormy and fierce.

“I know as surely as I know my own face how foolish and childish you all have been acting. I know every step me and mine have had to take to correct the absolutely atrocious levels of harm your flailing “heroic” acts have caused for entire countries. In all my days I hoped to never live through the beginning of a new era, and here you all are beginning an entirely new AGE. A feckin’ nexus of global change the lot of you. Which brings me back to why we are here. Lynn. Get over here girl, time to do our duty. It will do no good when ages begin to start out on the wrong foot. Leave it to the Elwoods to find the center of a nexus, leave it to Lynn to be bonded to them.” This last statement got a musical chuckle from the gathered shamans, lighthearted smiles were shared before they melted into grave silence once more. Lynn stood easily, her bearing more confident and sure than it had ever been with just those who lived at the Tower.

She stood square in front of Avery, smiling for the love that she shared with the clan and the wider community of shamans. Avery placed both her hands on Lynn’s shoulders and grinned at her with a subtle wink. She was playing up to the Avengers. Avery wasn’t usually one for the grand and dramatic sweeping that she’d been doing. There was an end game and it was going to be spectacular.


	4. A Step In the right direction?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes across something in the common room and pries without meaning to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this short little interlude while Avery continues to blenderize my brain. Act two of Avery's little play should be coming shortly.

Sam walked over to the open notebook lying face down on the carpet in the common room, an assortment of colored pens jumbled untidily underneath it, it looked like someone had deliberately thrown the mess on the ground. Sam bent and started tidying the mess. One of the pages of the notebook was creased and bent from being dropped, so he took care to smooth it back into place, scooping the handful of pens off of the floor and placing them on the coffee table. Another loose sheet of paper fell out as he righted the book in his hands. It was a poem, written in a flurry of mismatched ink colors.

_Distant as the palest star_

_Fleeter than the wind_

_Closer than an indrawn breath_

_I am this, this, this_

_Fragile as the drying leaf_

_Stronger than the cliffs_

_Changing as an ocean shore_

_I am this, this, this_

_Trapped in memories too dark_

_Locked inside a cage_

_Shaking with the inner fight_

_I am this, this, this_

_Covered in such shameful scars_

_Bathing in old blood_

_Hearing shouts and screams and blame_

_I am this, this, this_

_Seeking refuge I can’t have_

_Wanting love that’s lost_

_Keening o’er empty graves_

_I am this, this, this_

_Where is rescue that will come?_

_Knights in shining mail?_

_Who will cut the ties that bind?_

_None for this, this, this_

“Mister Wilson, I feel it necessary to inform you that that is Miss Elwood’s journal, I do not think she would take kindly to such an intrusion as you have made.” JARVIS interrupted, the tone of his voice making it clear that this was not the first time he had spoken to attempt to get Sam’s attention. Sam hastily tucked the paper back in between the pages of the notebook and placed it on the coffee table with the pens.

 

He was struck by the beauty and the haunting pain in the words Lynn had written, portions of the page had been dotted with small wrinkled spots, as though Lynn had cried over the words as she was writing.

A small, pale, shaking hand darted in front of him, grabbing the notebook and pens in one swoop. Lynn had come in unseen, unheard, and unnoticed by anyone but JARVIS as was often the case. Sam winced.

 

“I’m sorry Lynn, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. Your writing is very beautiful, I was enchanted.” Sam murmured, knowing from painful experience that when upset, even normal tones of voice further frightened Lynn.

 

She nodded once, jerkily, hugged the notebook to her chest until her fingers went white and scrambled out of the room at top speed. Sam sighed.

 

“That could have gone better, but considering our track record, I’m considering it a step in the right direction.” He muttered aloud.

 

“I am not so certain that that is a correct observation of events Mister Wilson.” JARVIS stated drily.


	5. Avery Gets Dramatic Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Delegation has words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this does Avery justice Mari, she's hard to pin down, but maybe she'll quiet down and influence me from the background for a little while now :)

Avery turned back to the assembled Avengers, her brows quirked as her overly dramatic punchy persona melted into an almost stern motherly set. She settled into herself with an almost audible thunk, her shoulders were square, firm as she projected a much less whimsical attitude confident and in charge. She was as grave as the rest of the delegation now her expression much less animated. She looked thoroughly disappointed and fondly exasperated. Avery’s back was straight and she had a fist popped against one hip- she looked ready to take all of them on, stern and serious once more.

Lynn almost laughed aloud, Avery’s booted foot was absently tapping against the floor and Lynn was picturing her with her hair pulled back in dress and apron with a wooden spoon. It was hard to maintain her composure at the thought of Avery thus dressed and equipped. Lynn could almost taste the bubbly sweet amusement on the other shaman’s strings like champagne. They were projecting a very stern and serious air at the idiots in front of them, but amongst themselves the weave was so light it felt like it was floating. Lynn faded quietly into the assembly- the other shamans melting around her with subtle winks and pats and soft tugs and brushes of her strings, folding her tenderly into the weave of their community once more and allowing her to slip to the back of the group where her clan was waiting.

She felt better than she had since before the attack- safer, calmer, more secure and very loved. They were springing her from the clutches of an octopus like tangle that was an overly- protective, overbearing, well meaning, overly-earnest, intense, overly everything bunch of superheroes. She was going home! Rest was on the agenda, she could feel it.

Aksel tugged sharply on her strings with a little secretive smile as Dave and Mates left the assembly quietly to waylay their friends in Medical. The commotion had the nursing staff on high alert so they went out to soothe and smooth the way for the clan to get out of the Tower easily. While Avery conducted business with the Delegation, the clan was going to leave. Bright bubbly pinks, roses, and corals erupted from Jeannine like fireworks. Though she hid her excitement well on her face it was plainly read on her strings. Lynn sent a strong wave of answering pinks, corals, and oranges back out at her sister of the soul, equally as excited to finally be leaving this horribly triggering place with well-meaning psychoidiots who only did more damage.

Avery spoke. She had the Avengers well and truly spellbound. They couldn’t take their attention off of her fully, not even Vision who-was-and-is-JARVIS.

“Now. How well do any of you like being called out on the carpet and beaten of dirt? None of you. None. How well do you like me shaking my words in your faces and making a scene? None of you. Tell me this, what makes you think the world likes it any better than you do? Rubbing your pain and insecurities into the sore spots of the world does no more to fix things than a bandage on a gut wound. Rubbing your raw edges against one another only makes the pain worse. You must learn to use your words and talk your issues out like the rest of the world does, you may be superheroes but you’re still human. Even the great bumbling Labrador of a demigod is still human on the inside, he just comes in a fancier meat wrapping than the rest o’ yeh.”

Hands on hips she calmly, coolly stared down the chastised Avengers and company. Under her firm, direct words, they seemed to wilt into fidgety children. Her gaze was much softer as she looked between Steve and Tony. Her voice melted just a little into the barest hint of warmth as a soft, lilting accent suddenly poured out of her mouth.

“The twa of yeh’ laddies will come te blows ere long if ye doon talk aboo fa’s bitherin the twa of ye. Two such braw strong willed feckie lads should be brithers in arms nay enemies.” She murmured with a raised and pointed eyebrow. Pointing between the two of them with a meaningful look.

Tony sighed and started to speak, but Avery’s hand came up and her brow lifted nearly into her hairline. She said nothing only continued to stare expectantly between Steve who looked as chagrined as a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar and Tony who was vibrating with the intensity of all of his in-held emotions.

“Fix this connection betwixt yerselves afore it shatters and harms yeh both laddies.” Avery continued with a firm nod before she turned away to face more towards the Delegation. Voice cool and formal once more as she addressed the crowd, uncaring that she had her back to the Avengers, she knew her community would keep her safe.

“It is time, members of the delegation, what have you to add on behalf of your various clans and countries?” As one the crowd shifted, they had been standing in a very stately and relaxed pose with one foot slightly behind the other their weight balanced slightly more to their back feet. Now they stood braced, feet shoulder width apart, proud and strong. Almost parade rest save that they did not hold themselves so rigidly and their arms and shoulders were loose and free. A united front.

Lianna, a clan chief from England and one of the heads of the European delegation nodded to Avery gravely and flowed gracefully from among the ranks of shamans.

“I would speak, for myself and for Europe, Headship.” She said calmly, her voice light and crisp and high, but filled with a weighty determination.

“You may speak.” Was the reply that didn’t give pause or consideration for the meddling superheroes in the room with the Delegation.

“Europe was affected most strongly by this latest fear sickened stunt of Tony Stark’s- infrastructure, political power, cultural bases, the balances of wealth and poverty, and the very earth’s geography have all been thrown into chaos and disarray. Not only must Europe fight to clean up, manage, and repair the damage that comes with ripping an entire city and the surrounding countryside out of the earth’s crust and flinging it into the air, but there are ripples of unrest that will now begin to emerge. What was started in fear will continue in fear, and unless very carefully and delicately managed has the potential to erupt into devastating war. Tony Stark has unbalanced the fabric of the world through terror and pride, arrogance, haste and rash decisions. These slubs in his weave are only amplified by horrendous amounts of wealth and terrifying, unbridled intellect. I am not wholly unbiased, three of our finest paid the ultimate price to hold Europe together in the height of this most recent attempted rending, but I acknowledge that Tony Stark is not totally at fault. Nicolas Fury who mismanaged Tony’s trust, who abused and lied and misdirected your power for his own ends and his own gain is at fault, Howard and Maria Stark are at fault. You who are his friends and colleagues failed to apply the brakes when you recognized his hubris, you failed to notice his discomfort and his pain and his fear even when you had one who tried to tell you of the tensions brewing in your midst, broken and quiet as that voice was. I am not unbiased, but I do not believe that your plan was to completely end the earth by causing global extinction. If you do not take the time to learn all you may from this harsh lesson, we are lost and everything was for naught. Do not be like Fury who must be near destroyed to learn anything at all.”    

     When Lianna bowed her head a second time and stepped back, Avery surveyed the Avengers again.

“You may speak to the observations laid out if you wish before the rest of the Delegation speaks.” She said, not unkindly. Surveying each of their faces in turn. Phil Coulson straightened and cleared his throat. Avery nodded to him, gesturing him to speak.

“What does Nick Fury have to do with Ultron?” He asked softly, looking the Delegation over and singling Lianna out of the crowd.

She smiled, though it was more of a snarl, and stepped forward again.

“A better question Phillip Coulson, is what Nick Fury does not have to do with. He and the World Security Council strove to control the heartbeat of the entire earth, a more subtle version of HYDRA’s- and many other’s ultimate goal, and more sinister for it. Absolute dominion. Absolute dominion with the appearance of freedom, playing chess with human lives and mass casualties. A desire to be the boogeyman in the closet and the monster under the bed, only more present, more real. In his desire to have ultimate dominion, Nick Fury put you all on the chess board and made moves. He pitted your individual weaknesses against one another, sowed the seeds of anger and terror and hatred, dripped the poison of doubt and mistrust into your ears, then hit liquefy and sat back to watch what happened. There is no reasoning with a man like Fury.  

If there is any good that comes from this mess it is that Ultron destroyed the WSC’s servers. He crippled and halted their machinations in order to wrest control for himself. When the endgame was too long for him, he moved to global annihilation as the better option.” Her words now were tinged with grief and anguish, but her voice was steady as she stepped back. Phil looked stricken, his eyes tight and his lips compressed into a bloodless slash, but he nodded and retook his place by Steve.

Natasha glided forward.

“What does Lynn have to do with all of this?” She demanded.

A Chinese man came forward, bowed to the room and to Avery and looked Natasha square in the eyes as he spoke.

“She is of our number, part of our family, together with us. She is one who is sensitive wrapped in a community of other people who understand those sensitivities, who empathize with her pain, the anguish and shame. She is a guardian as we are, a philosopher, a teacher, a poet, a healer as we are. Lynn belongs.” With a second bow to Avery, he continued speaking.

“I would speak next, though I speak only for myself.” Avery nodded to him.

“Nicolas Fury has among many others over many years deigned to turn us into weapons for his personal gain. The blame and anguish of the decisions that he made with such a goal in mind rest squarely with himself and those very few he answered to. There are those among your number who are not immune to the greed for power and control. There are those of you who filled the place of tormenter that Fury left open without question or concern. I name you culpable for the pain you caused Lynn and our wider community. You made the entire clan of Elwood dread visiting a place that should have been safe. Your actions opened the door for similar events to take place around the globe. You misunderstood the situation and took no time to see what it was that you were doing. You only stopped after multiple attempts to work it out politely failed and the clan blew up at Agent Coulson. Even then some of your number still pressured this family and its individuals to change because they make you uncomfortable. That is on you. Make it right.” The words were quiet as he stepped back into the group.

Other shamans came forward and expressed concerns that the global climate would cause power shifts in Asia Minor and Asia Major as well as several other key continents and countries.     

There was a dialogue that stayed mostly productive though the atmosphere was heavy with tension on both sides, a testament to the strength of the shamans who controlled the interpersonal threads, to their fortitude and strength, to their desire to make this work. Their belief that Phil Coulson would be a better leader than Nick Fury helped buoy the shamans through the grief and pain of their fight and their exposure to these people who were ignorant enough to be inconsiderate.

The conversation went on for another solid two hours, the time seeming to expand and contract as if breathing as those from Iran, Australia, New Zealand, Kenya, and Canada spoke, then the other two shamans from China stated their pieces as well. All were allowed an opportunity to participate, even Vision and Pepper. The shamans spoke of their fears and their hopes, their suffering and grief, their dreams and their plans and the roles the Avengers and SHIELD had played in the disruption of the finely tuned balance of the world that had led them to this moment. They laid out the facts, their biases and their understandings, their judgements laced with mercy, their grief paired with gentleness. The role of a shaman was not an easy one to fill, but they managed the tensions and the fraying edges of the strings with the beauty of a well conducted symphony.

When everyone had had an opportunity to air their concerns and allay their fears as best as possible, when the bones of a plan to right the situation had been discussed, when Pepper and Coulson had signed off the teleconference to begin their part in the work and the shamans had begun to file out, Sam noticed Lynn was gone. He stopped Avery with a shocked questioning cry.

“Where did Lynn get to now?!” At his words Avery whipped around with a raised eyebrow, she knew that tensions were high and emotions battered, but it didn’t give Sam cause to talk like Lynn was a pesky stray kitten.

“She is safe, well cared for, and loved lad. She is with a family who understands her heart and her mind, her traumas and her triggers, her triumphs and her failings. She is in a place where she can heal like a person who has undergone a trauma, not be fixed like a pesky machine. She is with people who will truly treat her gently and tread softly, not pretend to do so. She is where the pain of living with you lot on the brink of a civil war for the last few months can ease. Her soulmates are welcome, they will find her if they look for they did not attempt to force her and she has begun to trust them. But you lad, you and the rest of your well-meaning meddlers, you get to stay out of her process for a while. Are we clear?”

Sam flushed as much as he could and nodded.

“Fantastic, I leave you lot to your tasks, there is work to be done.” And she swept from the room with the last of the Delegation leaving exhausted and stunned Avengers in their wake.


	6. Shut Up and Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lynn is finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a start Mari. 
> 
> See the end notes for some links to a few things that inspired part of this chapter.

Marina sat up from her lazy sprawl on the overstuffed easy chair, her book abandoned. Alert, tense. She had expected this. Lynn was in the middle of a horrendous nightmare. The tensions and snapping and flailing coming off of her strings was enough to make Marina physically dizzy and ill feeling. Aksel had taken last night’s watch, Mates the night before, the clan had been prepared for this from the moment they’d spirited Lynn away from the Tower aided by Avery and the rest of the delegation. Charlotte and Lianna had both called to express concern for Lynn after they’d seen the state she’d been in on arrival. This crash was long overdue, her grandbaby had been holding this in since the HYDRA attack in the alley.

While Lynn was at the cabin surrounded by her family of the soul, she wasn’t going to be pushed or prodded or forced to do anything. Everyone made an effort to include Lynn in the normal day to day activities without pressure. Weeding and picking vegetables, tending the goats the sheep and the rabbits and chickens, doing yarn crafts, joining in the together times that the clan shared at meals or later on in the evening.

The letting up of that weight and expectation only brought the pain of the memories closer to the surface without the ability to focus on how uncomfortable everyone else made her, Lynn was forced to acknowledge her own pain, it was a much more effective tactic than the ones the people at Avengers Tower had employed. Though Marina’s heart broke a little for Lynn, she realized that this was the first step for her in terms of true healing.

With a deep breath she rushed to Lynn’s aid. It was going to be a long night.

**~~**

Lynn shuddered, drenched in sweat and shivering in shock and cold, the tail end of the nightmare still gripping her tight. Her panic was a mess of heavy pythons coiled around her chest and limbs; a hand locking her jaw shut. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was all so real. So very, very real- it was dark with her eyes open, was she hooded? Was she still strapped down to that awful table? Still held in the lab? Where were the wires, the electrodes and the PIC lines? She couldn’t even get her head to turn enough to get a decent look around.

Mem was suddenly beside her, hand in her hairline just below and slightly behind her ear, slowly rubbing the tender tightly knotted space in soothing circles. “Hush lovely, just a dream. You’re safe here with me.” Lynn pushed hard at Mem’s strings, Mem pushed back-a reassuring punch of pressure that settled against her lower abdomen and held firm. The grounding tether helped Lynn to get her breathing under control so that she wasn’t on the verge of hyperventilation and passing out, so that the panic pressure that bound her ribs and locked her throat down began to ease and the pathetic soft whimpering noises tapered off.

“Can…Can we do the… Dance of Ocean Tides Mem? I’m so unsteady it’s frightening me.” Her voice trembled and cracked as she gasped for breath to speak. The memories had been getting more and more intrusive, the nightmares more intense ever since her little stay at the tower had turned into a slightly longer stay. Tony was no doubt working on a way to convince Lynn to dwell there full time and get the rest of the clan to move to the Tower proper, or at least into New York City from the outskirts. The Clan Elwood was expecting some Avengers to show up any day now, they’d spirited Lynn out of the Tower during the Delegation’s little tableau a little over four days ago. Attempts at reconnection were inevitable, and Tony was infamously impatient, though he had a good heart. With any luck it would be Natasha or Clint who would come first and not Coulson or Bruce. Nobody else had dared venture to the cabin yet, but if Bruce knew where it was, it was only a matter of time before Tony came crashing through with the grace of a stampeding Bull elephant in Musth.

“We need much more room for that, the living room or the courtyard would work, are you awake enough to feel safe yet tonight?” Mem’s voice was soft and gentle in consideration of the nightmare and the early morning hour, and it was very faintly laced with worry. That made Lynn flinch a little bit- she hated making anyone worry.

The Dance of Ocean Tides was an exercise designed to attune two or more people to their bonds and soul stings, to foster emotional connection and promote understanding. The Dance was intense and very grounding, a shamanic version of a few energy manipulation techniques that had influenced and been influenced by similar practices from the cultures of the world. There were elements of yoga, reikei energy manipulation, and Tai Chi as well as several forms from martial arts, each generation of shamans in every culture cultivated and changed the Dance to suit their own needs and ideas. The Aborigines and Tibetans had developed a series of ritualized fighting dances while some shamans in Japan contributed heavily to Aikido and those in India had gone on to develop what became the roots of several partner yoga and tantric disciplines.

Mates, Dave, and Fred sometimes did the Dance of Ocean Tides using hip-hop and street dancing moves. However it was practiced, it was a workout for the mind the body and the soul. To be done correctly the Dance required a baseline of trust, receptiveness, and communication with both parties preferably already in a resting state of awareness- it was not a beginner’s art. Neither Lynn nor Mem were beginning shamans but Mem worried that Lynn being so ungrounded from the recent attack, the altercation with SHIELD, and the residual tension and stress effects of having stayed at the Tower with the genius idiots could hurt or twist the experience into something negative.

Lynn caught that last train of thought and feeling from her and a wave of panic washed over Mem from Lynn.

“Mem! I NEED to be grounded, I need this I’ll call Mates if you don’t want to dance with me tonight, but that was a doozy of a nightmare. I nneeed this. Please.” The waver in her voice was pressing and the nimbus of emotions surrounding Lynn flashed bright. Mem mentally smacked herself. They should have bled this tension off of Lynn weeks ago but between fending off Fury and a very curious mixed bag of Avengers, Mem had been terrified of revealing their gifts while at the Tower. If she was honest with herself she was still terrified that they had given too much away while with the Avengers and another STRIKE Team was going to drop in in the dead of night.

Marina took a breath and tried to still her racing thoughts, she needed to be in the here and now for Lynn. In this state Lynn would be even more prone to the nightmares and the panic attacks as well as bleeding energy and emotion all over the place. That energy bleed would be extremely unrestful for not only Lynn but the rest of the clan. It was a lot like airing dirty laundry on a line in close proximity to ones neighbors. They were all extremely sensitive to emotional energy, enough that to have such a thing happen would mean being effectively poisoned by the panic. She sighed heavily as she thought, brushing her fingers slowly through Lynn’s damp hair. Lynn sighed and relaxed ever so slightly with the contact. It would do Marina no good to chastise herself, in any case there was nothing to fix or change at this point which could alter the outcomes she was worried about. If Marina was being totally honest with herself she needed to Dance too.

“Easy darling, I wasn't saying no. Far from it, don't read anything in to my emotions. I will Dance with you, don't fret. Be at peace now lovely, we’re safe at the cabin now, nobody’s going to mess with you if we can help it. Let’s head out to the courtyard, it’s a warm clear night and there’s plenty of space for a dance. We’ll light a fire and just be. Sound good?”

Lynn nodded, slowly relaxing just a little at the calming memories that flooded her as she thought about the courtyard and the nightmare receded further into oblivion. The courtyard at the cabin was restful, a sanctuary in the midst of a sanctuary. It hummed and sang with peace. The edges of the courtyard were planted with various flowering shrubs and trees- lilacs and clematis and tea roses, hydrangea and rhododendron. Insect repellant herbs like lilac and lemongrass were tucked between those. Half of the courtyard was shaded by an arbor trellis, the clematis and several hearty varieties of ivy shaded it, Concord Grapes grew on their own trellis near the ivies also. Birds enjoyed nesting at the angles of the trellises and it was always cool and verdant beneath the vines. The result of the plant varieties was a nearly intoxicating ever changing perfume stirred by the wind that entranced the senses. A lush area of springy mosses was tucked in one corner under the arbors next to a softly bubbling fountain that flowed into a small rock pool providing a soft cushion for reading or meditation, or simply just sitting to listen to the sounds of nature. It was the heart of the cabin.

The middle of the courtyard was paved in the same flagstones that had been used outside the kitchen door, a wide smooth surface that served the clan well during the warmer months. An excellent place to gather with hand crafts or games, instruments or snacks. Many a calm night had burst into an impromptu concert, just as many had been spent together in one another’s company entranced in individual pursuits. The fire pit graced the center of the space making it enjoyable throughout most of the year, even during the first touches of winter.

As Mem and Lynn stepped out the sliding door to the courtyard, a morning dove took flight, startled. They were surrounded by the buzzing and droning of insects, the occasional high pitched squeaks made by bats, the trilling and croaking of the frogs that had taken up residence in the pond, and the chorus of other nocturnal inhabitants from the woods. Every so often the rustle of a larger creature moving through the woods would sound, the distant cries of coyotes, a screech of an owl. It was very peaceful.

Marina moved to the stack of wood and kindled a fire in the pit. The night air was cool, but comfortable and a cheery fire would quickly warm the space and make it perfect for the pair of them to Dance and settle down in. Once the fire was burning cheerily enough to not need constant tending, Mem turned to Lynn and moved a safe distance away from the flames beckoning her beloved _sholusholu_ to join her.

Lynn and Marina settled down facing each other in tailor’s seats starting off by just sitting and breathing deeply, listening to the music that the night made. Marina kept her eyes on Lynn. Her posture was stiff and she was fidgety and agitated still trembling slightly caught up in the lingering grips of her nightmare. She wouldn’t look at Marina yet, but Mem was content to wait until she settled into the rhythms of right here and right now before moving to prod the Dance of Tides along further.

There was a sneaking suspicion voicing itself in the back of Marina’s brain that part of the agitation Lynn was experiencing was due to the Avengers constantly pushing Lynn to talk and process her abuses. Even if it wasn’t all of them every day, there were enough people in the Tower not to mention JARVIS to be constantly intruding-and the shamans were interesting and mysterious when they were not dealing with fresh traumas, of course the idiots would batten on like lampreys- even more intrigued by the jarring nature of Lynn’s arrival at the Tower.

Marina quietly waited, content to breathe, an indeterminate amount of time flowed by them buoyed by the night air before Marina judged that a few words were in order.

“You never got any peace in that place did you _sholusholu?_ ” The soft question had Lynn violently jerking and shaking her head, she blew out a breath so hard she puffed out her cheeks. Marina waited, pleased with any response Lynn was ready to give. Right now her job was to be softly present and patiently watching, so she relaxed. They had time, all the time they needed. Marina was alert and listening to the ebb and flow of the nightly orchestra of insects and the little tree dwelling frogs that were affectionately known in these parts as “peepers” for their high pitched peeping trilling calls. She took in the texture of the subtle air currents against her skin, the raspy texture and slightly acrid smell of wood smoke in her nostrils, the deeply heady perfume of the slumbering gardens. She basked in the twisting ebb and flow of the lights and shadows cast by the cheery fire, the caressing kissing warmth of its heat on her skin, the crackling and hissing laughter of the embers.

It was glorious and beautiful, and it became more so as Marina-keeping careful watch over the strings- felt her lovely Lynn relax slowly, reluctantly as the magic of the night gradually seduced her down from the heights of her panic and grounded her in the present. She was going to be okay, yes, little Lynn was going to be fine.

As soon as their combined residual surface tensions had ebbed away into the steady thrum of alert shamans, and they were both focusing in on one another, Mem’s awareness snapped back to Lynn, the night faded into the distance. When they began to harmonize with the in and out rhythms of their breathing, Mem opened her connections wide, taking in the full spectrum of the threads she was woven into. Most of the clan’s threads were long and slack; syrupy and loose, the dreamy muted colors slowly shifting with lazy roils of brighter color echoing with sleep and relaxation and comfort and safety. It was as she expected for the early morning hour. Not Lynn’s threads.

Lynn’s threads were taut like a bow string drawn back for a shot, drawn tight and _HELD_ that way, thrumming and flashing like they had been this overextended for days. And Lynn’s connections were slammed shut like she was holding a huge breath of air in and just holding, holding, holding, _HOLDING_ it. Like she was trying her best to be absolutely invisible. This was not good.

Mem expanded her awareness softly into the quiet space, her eyes focused on Lynn. She felt the shudder as Lynn eased her death grip on her emotional barriers while trying to remain outwardly calm and collected. When had she started to feel it was necessary to lock herself down this way? Lock herself up so tight that not even her clan had an inkling about how overextended and stressed she was? How insecure and unsettled she felt? Why did she feel the need to hide this way with the clan? It was a new and unsettling development in negative coping strategies, one that Mem felt needed at least a cursory acknowledgement.  

“Oh, baby girl, why didn’t you say anything?! You’re so tightly strung and closed off I’m afraid you might snap. Why did you feel the need to let the tensions in you get this bad?!” Lynn stiffened and held her breath before very obviously forcing herself to relax. Her breath _whooshed_ out of her in a quite keen imitation of a feline hiss. Lynn’s cheeks pulled back and her mouth opened wide, but no other sound came out. She gave Mem a Look, but Mem smiled and shook her head, chuckling a little under her breath.

“Don’t get your claws out now kitten, it’s too late. Talk to me. I’ve already seen what you’ve been hiding. I’m concerned and I have every right to be. Why didn’t you say anything? Any one of us would have helped you through this tension, you’re on the verge of snapping Lynn, and I hate seeing you like this.”  

“Mem?” Lynn bit out. She was exhausted, utterly drained. So the word wasn’t quite as acidic as she intended.

“Yes dear?” There was merry amusement dancing in Mem’s eyes along with the playful skipping of the firelight.

“Shut up and dance with me.” Mem chuckled softly and sighed out a breathy reply.

“As you wish darling girl,” More firmly, though clearly still amused she continued, “but we will talk about this later. You take the lead in the Dance dear, whenever you’re ready start with the traditional opening and then go wherever you wish from there, I’ll follow you.”

“Fine.”

She sat, breathing hard, staring Mem directly in the eyes- angry and panicked and irritated and stressed as hell. Resenting all that had ever taken place. Contemplating and discarding the inevitable hamster wheels that started to play when she got this off kilter, the insidious, poisonous whispers of _end it, be at peace, end it._ She was exhausted and terrified and feeling pressure from all sides, she knew entertaining those thoughts would do nothing but make her more miserable, but in these dark hours when the flash backs came she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help it and she hated it.

“Breathe baby girl. Breathe. Such dark and angry storms you’re holding in there, share the burden now. Dance with me.” Mem’s soft, firm, still lightly amused voice broke through her negative, self-loathing thoughts and brought Lynn back to the present. Oh. Dance. Right.

Lynn took a deep cleansing breath, pulling air in through her nose, consciously filling her lungs as full as possible, holding it for a count of seven and then slowly releasing it for a count of ten. She locked eyes with Mem once more and forced herself to stay fully connected with her grandmother, the heart of her clan, her anchor, true family, and her partner.

Slowly, gently, still staring deeply into Mem’s eyes, Lynn brought her right arm up from its position in her lap to place it lightly and gracefully on Mem’s left shoulder. Mem copied the motion, timing her movement to synch as closely with Lynn’s as possible. For a moment, Lynn allowed herself to settle into this new position and breathe. Mem simply kept quiet and followed trusting Lynn to set the pace. Eventually Lynn’s left arm came up at the same slow pace to land on Mem’s right shoulder, again Mem copied her, their movements nearly perfectly timed. Lynn smiled a bit, relaxing as Mem cradled her in a soft, gauzy net of fine threads. Surrounding her in comfort and peace and safety like a warm blanket and a good hug all at the same time. Lynn took another deep breath, smelling wood smoke and the sweet scent of grapes, and did the same, establishing their connection for the Dance.

Lynn slowly unfolded her left leg out from the lotus position, her leg arcing in a gentle line out slightly to the side. Mem followed suit, their right legs unfolded only slightly, hips rotating so that their feet were firmly situated flat on the floor facing the same directions as their left legs with their knees bent. As one they removed their hands from each other’s shoulders, swinging their arms in graceful arcs as they lunged forward slightly to re-center their weight then rocked and came up into a backward lunge/crouch position, arms still outstretched for balance. They held that position for a moment then at a nudge from Lynn’s soul strings, they darted to their feet, hands coming to rest naturally at their sides. They were facing in opposite directions from one another while standing shoulder to shoulder. This was a complex but traditional opening to the dance- requiring coordination, strength, flexibility and communication to pull off.

It was one of Lynn’s favorite beginnings because one had to sink into the movements and be present with their partner to accomplish the sequences at all, and one had to pay absolute attention to be able to execute them with any sort of grace. This was yet another thing that the demons from her past couldn’t touch, because they had no idea this practice existed. They could not condition her body to betray her mind, or her mind to betray her body when it came to the shamanic practices, because the MYTH of shamanic practice was eons and ages away from the truth of shamanic practice. She could let the here and now, the pungent smoke from the fire, the breeze and the scent of lilac and clematis blow the insidious smoke of her past far away. She was here, she was not alone, and she was safe, or as safe as anyone bred and grown and tested like her ever got to be.

Lynn took another deep breath and with a playful tap along Mem’s strings, she lifted her arms slowly, bringing them straight up into the air. Another sharp tug had them tumbling into forward rolls and springing to their feet. Mem smiled as she caught the flavor Lynn wanted to give this dance, she could tell it was going to be full of enough springs, leaps, and lunges to qualify as a gymnastics floor routine. The need to test the full range of muscles and tendons and the full reach of one’s body was not unusual after one was used to being forcibly restrained.

The quiet piping notes of a reed flute suddenly broke through the air, Aksel had come out to join them. Lynn stiffened for a split second, then breathed again and smiled as Fred, Dave, Mates, and Jeannine came out and arranged themselves under the arbor. Jeannine took up a position closest to the fire, laid down a soft bundle of blankets a safe distance away and began to tend it, coaxing it back into a cheery brightness once more and then focusing on Mem and Lynn. Fred brought out his guitar, Mates and Dave their Djembes. They began to play a soft, slow, thrumming, seductive rhythm, one that encouraged a body to move. Lynn was snapped fully back into awareness of her own body when she realized she’d started swaying to the beat.

She sighed and smiled softly.

“I love you all so much.” She whispered to her family-clan, deepest of her soul. She sent out warm waves of contentment and peace and elation, her strings for the first time in a few weeks becoming light as her true family came to help her bear her burdens.

“Love you too, so very much.” Was the soft chorus, they wrapped her up in their strings.

She was safe, she didn’t have to be alone any more. She never had to be alone again. She was loved, so very, very loved.

Lynn was home.  

With a dazzling, wild grin, Lynn threw herself into the Dance of Ocean Tides, falling in to the rhythm and the love of motion, trusting her clan to keep and catch her, knowing they would be strong at her back.

Lynn was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are a few possible examples of The Dance of Ocean Tides in various styles:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xECiTdgy9nE  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEhY-b_Ih6A  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjGi8_pWmL8
> 
> here are a few possible examples of the music- obviously the song the clan played was impromptu and free form, but I imagine it had this sort of tone, there are a few different artists represented here:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phktiVZqUbQ (this is the song playing in the background of the acroyoga video)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtRIz7VocNs  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97uHUyPL5dA ( clearly I like this artist :))   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0tBS_IAX-M (obviously this one isn't possible for the shamans with the amount of piano, but it fit the theme)
> 
> Sholusholu- shamanic term of endearment used between lovers or close family members, no direct translation exists in modern language. Can be taken to mean "My darling little one" however, a more literal translation would be "bird singing under brush" or "birdsong in the night"


	7. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widow drops in just as the ladies are getting ready for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something's happening with AO3 and so the formatting is not as smooth as I would like it, I will be attempting to fix it when the things I edit actually make it through to the posting phase, but I can't figure out what the hiccup is at the moment.

She appeared in the kitchen by the hearth as if by magic, but Jeannine had seen magic before and while the assassin came close to the level of stealth required to appear as though one used magic as effortlessly as any practitioner of the nine realms, there were still tells that could not be avoided. Jeannine had sensed her energy and her soul threads- muted, fuzzy, and contained though they were- long before Natasha had made it to the cabin and so knew she’d crawled over the peak rafter and shimmied down the chimney and therefore was not startled.  
“Hello Widow.” She said calmly as she turned slowly and deliberately in deference to the inevitable “grab for weapons and prepare to die” reflexes of a made master assassin who had not dealt readily or often with shamans with a cordial smile and calmly asked Natasha  
“Are you staying for tea?” her tone was gracious if a bit cool, and Natasha recovered nicely, nodding with a small half smile and moving to settle on one of the stools at the workbench.  
“What blend interests you? Come look, we craft our own tea blends here, I prefer the more citrusy blends like the invigoration or the sunshine, but we have quite a few to choose from. Memmere will be down shortly so you have time to decide.” The Widow looked Jeannine over skeptically, but she was entirely sincere if a tad too formal. She was clearly not one hundred percent comfortable, but she was making an effort to be kind. Natasha inclined her head and glided over to the shelf to peruse the tea blends available. Occasionally she would take a tin down and remove the lid to inhale the aromas that poured off the dried leaved, herbs, and fruits inside. Eventually Natasha settled on a blend called ‘Early Afternoon’ which seemed fitting as it was, in fact, early afternoon. She plucked the canister from the shelf and set it by the tea pot, nodding at Jeannine.  
“Ah, that’s a good choice, one of Memmere’s favorites. A bit too heavy on the bergamot to drink often for my tastes, but a wise choice for today. That is a somber and serious tea with just the barest hint of whimsy. A tea for business. I’ve no doubt you are here more for business than pleasure.” 

The words were spoken evenly, frankly, and quietly as Jeannine moved like water round the kitchen. Her gait was smooth, but she didn’t move with the slinking prowl of an operative or the quiet confidence of an assassin. Jeannine wasn’t even moving like a dancer or a gymnast, there was a tiny offset hitch in her stance that affected her gait. She moved like one completely at home, and that shocked the Widow to the core. The girl was in the presence of an operative that terrified fully grown SHEILD agents, yet she was fully relaxed and content. Nat turned her head slightly to take everything in.  
Jeannine sensed the scrutiny, faced the Widow and raised a questioning eyebrow. Really? The Widow acted like she was the only shadow to walk the earth when Jeannine knew that wasn’t true, she may not completely be comfortable with her sister’s SHIELD Agent/spysassin soulmate, but she wasn’t afraid of her. Jeannine had looked death and depravity full in the face before, all of the Elwoods had, and The Widow was not death and depravity. Pain and misguided aggression, brainwashing and beat downs, deadly training and an iron will, but not true death and depravity. Besides which The Widow wasn’t out for a hunt, the colors coming off of her were completely protective and shining brightly with deep, earthy blues and greens through the dusky gray that was a cloak around herself. Jeannine had no reason to be scared of her. Even if the woman had come to the cabin with dealing death on her mind there was little that would stop her from accomplishing her goal so what point was there in being terrified?  
Natasha felt The Widow melt into herself and was surprised, though still cautious and wary. That did not often happen so quickly or easily. She now understood a little of what Phil had dared to say about his conversation with this family, about how strange he felt after he left the cabin. Strange this family was- all of them. At once brusque and welcoming, secretive and open, mysterious and guileless, harsh and soft. Home, as much as any of them had experience with home and yet so very, very foreign. Natasha felt both freed and wary, unable to fully shut off her training so that she was slightly lost in the innumerable observations of this place and the young woman before her.  
It was clear that Jeannine did not trust her, was upset and angry at all that Natasha represented and also at Natasha herself, and yet this business with the tea was not an act. She was not moving to prod Natasha or begin the petty needling games young women often indulged in. There was no malice in her, no vindictive rage. Her anger was a clear, hot burn but it did not consume her. That took great measures of both skill and maturity. Feeling emotions without allowing them to color one’s perceptions was an ability most people could not master and was something completely foreign to the Widow.  
Jeannine possessed a skill set that The Widow sensed immediately was uniquely different from her own of being able to fake emotions to perfection while feeling absolutely nothing. Jeannine was acknowledging the emotions, displaying them, but choosing to move beyond them. Whereas Widow’s training had forced all of her emotions behind walls miles thick, distancing them so much that she wasn’t sure she could feel anything clearly anymore- this girl could do the impossible, feel violently angry and still be genuinely cordial and kind. These techniques were complete opposites of one another but produced similar results. Natasha found herself slightly jealous of the woman standing before her and also genuinely confused at her strange kindnesses.  
“What you’re experiencing is a little thing called “Grace” Agent Romanov.” The quiet words snapped Natasha’s focus to an acute angle, instead of the hazy curtain she had used, what? What had she let show? She was certain her training could never fail, they had beaten failure out of her in the Red Room. To fail was to die. Natasha was not dead yet. The sharp intensity of a Mission came back to the front of her awareness as she stared at Jeannine. Odd that she should somehow feel bereft at the descent of such a familiar cloak.  
“Don’t worry Widow, your skills aren’t lacking. Some of us are born to see things in ways others cannot, and there is more mystery in the universe than shall ever be discovered, even for you and yours.” There was marked amusement in her tone, and Natasha caught the dancing sparkles in her eyes as their gazes met briefly across the room. She was beautiful when she smiled. And that was another wonder. How could one experience both genuine joy and anger at the same time? Jeanine was joyful and at peace here in this place, it was obvious. Yet Natasha could sense the wariness and unease and anger towards her presence loudly and clearly. This revelation was at once comforting and off putting, an odd jarring sensation that made Natasha uneasy.  
Jeannine seemingly took no notice of her distress as she was serene and busy setting out a serviette, locating a beautifully crafted tea cozy, arranging a plate of shortbread and sugar cookies, lifting down an unusually large teapot patterned in song birds, and taking out fancy china cups patterned very unexpectedly in vignettes of the earth and sky. They were painted with marvelously detailed landscapes so perfect that they would make many an art collector swoon and clamber to know the one whose work it was. Each small scene drew the eye in and held it there, teasing the observer to find deeper and deeper levels of detail- a testament to the skill and dedication of the craftsman.  
Marina breezed into the room from somewhere deeper in the house through an arched entryway that led to a living room furnished in soft, neutral tones with splashes of sunny yellows and greens. Natasha could see the armrest of a plush British Tan leather sofa and the corner of a darkly stained side table from where she leaned against the prep counter. Marina smiled slightly when she saw Natasha.  
“Welcome Widow, it’s a fine afternoon for a cup of tea. Do you have a preference as to where we sit? Jeannine and I much prefer our afternoon tea in the herb garden or on the kitchen porch if it is nice outside, but we would very much like to consider your preferences as well.”  
“I will drink tea wherever you wish to do so, but the porch sounds particularly lovely. It is a beautiful afternoon.” Natasha conceded demurely. Quietly pleased that she would have open lines of sight to any approaches if they were out of doors. If they sat on the porch, she could also have her back to a wall which would make her feel much better about the situation. Marina nodded solemnly with a hint of a happy grin around the edges and swept the tray up to carry out of doors as Jeannine finished brewing the tea. Fragrant, heady, floral, herbaceous steam poured from the spout of the teapot before Jeannine settled the tea cozy over the pot and used a wonderfully crafted pot holder to carry the tea pot out of the kitchen through the back door after Mem.  
Natasha smiled and followed, slinking with the stride of a predator, confident, fluid and relaxed. There was something magical about this place and these people. She couldn’t tell what it was, but she was oddly certain she wanted more. Peace seemed to infuse the air like a sweet, wild and fey incense that ensnared the senses.  
She stepped out onto a wide expanse of smooth, sun warmed river rocks to find that the ladies were arranging an intricately hand crafted lace tablecloth done in a pattern of twisting dragons with outstretched wings bordered with flowering vines on a small dark wood round table. The table cloth was the most complex working Natasha had seen in many long years, one very worthy of fine display. The cloth was probably priceless due to the amount of man hours necessary to create and then craft such an intricate design. How many more such wondrous treasures were hidden here at this cabin and with these people?  
She would have to scold Phil for holding out on her when she could corner him in a safe place to discuss this. Not SHEILD or the Tower…possibly on a mission where he would have a much more difficult time slinking away.  
“Come and have a seat Widow, then perhaps you shall tell us why you’ve graced us with your lovely presence today.” Came a slightly amused call from under the shade of a turquoise umbrella at the table set for tea. Both women seated at the table had kindly left the chair Natasha needed to sit in open for her, looking regal as queens though they were dressed plainly and comfortably for light house and yard work. Delicate linen napkins carefully embroidered were laid out over their knees and each already had a small saucer arranged with a selection of cookies in front of them. They were watching her with clearly amused expectation and just a hint of wariness as she came over to the table.  
Natasha sank gracefully into her chair and took the napkin sitting by her cup and saucer, expertly flicking it out crisply over her knees with a practiced snap. She leaned forward a bit and gestured inquiringly at the tray of tea savories which Marina politely passed to her. She chose a few thumbprint cookies with what looked like cherry preserves in the center, a few pieces of spiced shortbread, and a small sugar cookie shaped like a snowflake and decorated in white sanding sugar. Jeannine leaned forward and held the teapot aloft with a flourish, Natasha nodded and set her teacup-painted like a mountain valley under a midnight sky full of stars- in front of Jeannine who poured first cup for her.

“How do you take your tea Widow?” Jeannine asked, fingers hovering over the tea service still nestled into the beautifully carved tray.

“Very light on the milk, one sugar thank you.” Natasha replied avidly observing the proceedings with sniper like intensity and focus. Jeannine chose to ignore the observation and simply prepared the tea before picking it up and leaning slightly forward to place the now full cup of fragrant, steaming liquid in front of Natasha. She watched Natasha’s face expectantly, eyebrow slightly arched, as she lifted the fine porcelain to her lips and took a sip of the tea. Bright complex flavors burst over Natasha’s tongue as soon as she sipped. Hints of lemon and rose hips added bright notes while the earthy tone of the bergamot anchored all of the flavors she was tasting with a deep, earthy note. The tea was an art, an exercise in utilizing the flavor that the Japanese referred to as umami. It was a very serious tea as Jeannine put it. Wonderfully rich and balanced with just enough brightness not to weigh down the flavor and overpower the palate as one drank. It was very good tea. 

“This tea is very good. It’s dressed just right, thank you Jeannine.” Natasha informed her hosts graciously as she returned her tea to the table, not having room for the cup on her saucer. Once she was settled again she turned slightly to look at Marina.  
“The tea as Jeannine informed me is indeed serious, and I do have business here. I do hope it may also be a pleasant visit. I will not keep you waiting. Lynn and I are soulmates.” She said, calmly and matter of fact, eyes locked on Marina’s eyes almost daring her to say anything bad about the situation. She was surprised when both Jeannine and Marina seemed to light up and then broke into a merry gale of chuckling laughter that spilled out over the gardens and into the light breeze.

“Ah, you say that like it should be some terrifying revelation we should condemn you for Widow!” Marina chuckled out when she finally caught her breath, her eyes dancing with amusement.  
“It should be. I have red in my ledger.” Natasha said simply. The two women let that hang in the air between them over the table for a long moment. Strangely the silence was not awkward or heavy, more considering and pondering than pinched or anxious. It was odd, but comforting at the same time. Oh, she was so going to corner Phil the next time she saw him. There was still merriment brightening Marina’s eyes, but her tone turned a bit more serious as she replied to Natasha’s statement.  
“You were dealt an awful hand in life. From what little I know, it has become your mission to counterbalance the decisions you’ve made in order to survive in a world of impossible choices and brutal retaliation and judgement. You have come from an existence that consisted mostly of cruelty and consequences. What I know is very little, so if I had to make any sort of guess I would say that the reality is far worse than the whitewash the media was given. From where I’m sitting Widow, your ledger might be red, but more of that red can be attributed to the ones who molded you than it can be to you.” She held up a hand when it looked like Natasha would interject, Natasha subsided and sipped at her tea and relaxed slightly into her chair once again.  
“I do not say you are blameless. Nobody waltzes through this world completely unscathed or without dealing damage of their own. Much as we like to sugar coat it, humans are vindictive and manipulative, and cruel. Even the kindest and nicest and gentlest of us slip into darkness every now and again. As far as I am aware, you are not a deity incarnate, so I am going to say you fall under the category of humanity too. We’ve even come face to face with gods and aliens now, and it turns out that they can be pretty awful and messed up as well. You understand the basest of humanity’s failings. Like most of us at this cabin Widow, you’ve stared death and destruction and violence and hatred- and even evil- square in the face and survived to tell the tale. Lynn has lived through evil. There is no better soulmate for her than yourself. Before you protest be aware we know she has two. Your strengths will help shore up her weaknesses. Where you were taught to be a weapon to channel your breaking and rebuilding, she was taught to live in a state of numb suspension and submission. There is no better person for her than yourself.” Marina gave Natasha a decisive nod and took a large sip of tea before settling back in her chair with a quiet sigh and glancing around at the yard and the woods.  
The ladies were quiet for a long time, simply enjoying the pleasantness of the afternoon out of doors, the quiet break in their day. They left Natasha to her own thoughts and ponderings, every now and again subtly checking in on the state of her fate strings. In the way of the shamans they let her pick through what had been said and absorb it for as long as she needed, understanding that more words were unnecessary at this time. Jeannine glanced over at Mem and gave her a soft, knowing smile before taking a sip of her own tea.  
They were slowly informing the Avengers that they could be gentle with themselves and with others. As soon as Mem had informed the clan exactly who Lynn’s soulmates were, everyone had shared a private moment to groan and bang their heads against hard surfaces at the challenges that they knew were to come. A team of broken individuals with soft spots and rough edges thrown haphazardly together at the insistence of Nick Fury without so much as a by your leave were going to need coaching and gentleness and firm truth. It meant a lot of work for all of the shamans, and since the upheaval that had been a world wide revelation that aliens were indeed very real and active, their lives had been nothing but hard work.  
Marina took another bracing sip of the strong tea and lightly, playfully brushed against Jeannine’s strings, sending out a soft hum like the striking of a chord on a harp. Jeannine smiled and reciprocated, a bright burst of energy like a flurry of flute notes and the swirling colors of the dawn sky washed over Marina. Their work may be never finished, difficult and exhausting, frustrating and sometimes isolating, but she knew that the clan wouldn’t trade their lives here for anything. Having found a solid anchor in this weave of people made all of the pain and suffering every one of them had experienced bearable and they loved each other deeply.  
Jeannine and Marina were both on their second cups of tea when Natasha took a deep breath and looked at them both. She had been absently scanning the horizon with a far-away look in her eyes, the focus in her gaze locked on something only she could see with her mind’s eyes. She gave both women a small half smile as she said simply

“You’ve given me much to think about.” Her small half smile did not reach her eyes, but both ladies had been occasionally brushing her strings and so they knew that she was not in distress, but lost in deep introspection and internal dialogue. Widow was seriously considering the actions of both women and everything that Marina had said to her, the shamans could not ask for anything less.  
The rest of their afternoon tea was spent with periods of polite and easy silence and moments of discussion about the afternoon’s activities between Jeannine and Marina. They settled on chicken picatta for dinner, planned tomorrow’s work in the north field, and discussed a foraging trip to gather plants for making dyes since it was nearly time to shear the sheep, occasionally Natasha would contribute a small comment, but the shamans were content to leave her with her own thoughts sensing it was what she needed in this moment. A peaceful place to mull over all that had occurred.  
When Natasha had finished her second cup of tea, she sighed softly and looked between the two women at the table with her. A genuine smile coming to her lips.

“You’ve both been lovely, the tea and cookies were delicious, thank you for an enjoyable afternoon.” As she rose from her seat and prepared to leave them, Jeannine smiled up at her and said  
“You are welcome for tea here whenever you need it Widow, the kitchen porch is a great place to ponder life’s little mysteries.” Natasha nodded and walked around the side of the house to disappear. Marina and Jeannine smiled at each other knowingly as they felt Widow’s progress around the side of the house, up and over the garden’s fence and out through the woods before she got too far away to accurately pinpoint. 

“That wasn’t as difficult as I feared Mem.” Jeannine remarked not unkindly as she took a deep draught of her tea and sighed.  
“No, it was not, that was a very pleasant afternoon, she is more easily accepting of other people’s truths, but like us she needs much time to ponder and mull over the truth that has been given her about her own self. I think she will be fine, I am not worried.” Marina commented softly as she beamed at her heart’s daughter.  
“Indeed. Now, about the North field, I was thinking next season we make that mainly corn, it’s planted mostly in beans right now.” Jeannine stated, leaning forward and blossoming as she got excited about a topic she loved.  
They continued discussing various points about the care and upkeep of the cabin until the teapot was empty and it was time to clean up and continue the chores for the day.

Everything was going to be fine.


	8. Strong and Tender Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clan coaxes Lynn to let them show her how much she is loved. They have such strong and tender hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 Ate this chapter four times as I tried to post it, still not sure what the Benedict Cumberbatch is going on with formatting and posting issues....

Lynn was finally home.

Late the next morning Lynn woke in her bed, momentarily disoriented and confused, a sweet, fruity, rich smell competing with the scents of lavender and lemon coming off of her sheets. She remembered finishing the Dance of Ocean Tides, shaking, loose and relaxed. Happier than she’d been in months, suddenly free of all of the tension of holding herself in, locking everything vulnerable away to protect it from the constant barrage of mining from those at the Tower. Finally able to draw a full breath for the first time in months, she felt the trueness of herself explode like a supernova, and the rest of the clan laughed with her at the pure joy of just being in the moment. Being themselves, hiding nothing, breathing together, being in community. Then Jeannine had come over with some blankets warm from sitting on stones close enough to the fire to be toasty and scented slightly with the smoke, wrapping her cooling body in a cozy woolen hug.

The clan had been up late into the night, singing, breathing, just reveling in the pureness of being together and connected as a family with nothing looming over them. A rare eddy in a tumultuous river, a moment of indrawn breath in a hurricane. A much needed space of rest. Like a dry, thirsty plant Lynn basked in the nearness and closeness of her family, soaking in the calmness and commitment of their connection. Touched starved in a way she hadn’t been for years, once the tensions of holding herself back were eased, she gave in to the need to touch, hug and caress everyone. Something that the clan reassured her was fine, a sign that she was winding down from the stress of the events of the past few months.

Lynn made her way around to each of them over the course of the night hours they shared, draping over them, tucking herself under arms and against the columns of throats, inhaling the unique fragrances of each individual clan member’s skin. The smoke and sage, cedar and lacquer smell that always hung around Aksel; the bright lemon and orange and yeast and sugar scent that draped around Jeannie like a shawl; the coffee and paint and plaster smells that clung to Fredrick along with a deep woodsy earth odor; the metallic tang and deep oil and lanolin that hugged Mates like a second skin combining with heather and mint and a grassy brightness; David with the sharper more chemical based scents of the clinic overtaken with the earthy soil and plant scents of the dyes that he made for the clan to use on the wool; and Mem with her sunshine and washed linen and loam and roses, herbs and grapefruit perfume that was bright in the air like a star.

She loved them all so much.

By the end of the night they were all draped in a loose circle near the fire in a nest made of the blankets Jeannine had brought out all touching one another. It was delightful and Lynn did not remember falling asleep, but it must have happened during the last song she remembered being sung. A deep and heartfelt ballad so ancient that the original culture was lost to everyone but the shamans and a few remnants who held tight to the ancient things. A song of exultation, of friends and lovers and families reunited after long battle, triumph in war and pain in loss, freedom from oppression and the joy of another day safe from harm. A perfect song to end the night with. One of the guys must have carried her to bed.

She slept without dreams for the first time in eight months.

Lynn laid there in her bed basking in her pleasant memories and stretched languidly listening to the trilling song of the robin outside her window. Eventually the tantalizing smells wafting toward her enticed her to sit up and look around her room. On the small table by the door sat a covered tray with a note on it. She smiled and threw the soft down comforter off of her making her way across the plush braided rug she and Jeanine had lovingly crafted together and took the note from the top of the tray, there in Fred’s clear, beautiful calligraphy was a note that simply said _**let us pamper you today darling girl, you’ve earned it. We love you, come down when you are ready. We have a surprise.**_ She sighed with sheer happiness as she whipped the cover off the tray.

There was a bowl of piping hot steel cut oatmeal seasoned with cinnamon and honey, a small plate of diced apples and pears, a bowl of the fresh picked strawberries from yesterday’s forage, a small dish of sugar and one of cream. A pat of butter sat in its own ramekin off to one side. A glass of fresh squeezed orange juice graced one side of the tray and a mug of strong coffee the other. She loved her clan. Lynn sent out an enthusiastic, grateful pulse teeming with sky blues and the wispy pinks and purples that painted the undersides of early morning clouds, she received the string equivalent of a warm hug back.

Eating slowly she savored being alone without any agenda for the day, without eyes on her every nanosecond, without analyzing stares and concerned murmurs, without doctors probing her for details or Sam lurking like a ridiculous therapy spy waiting for her to do something stupid like hurt herself or something awesome like talk randomly about her problems and her past to the ceiling. Like that was going to happen. She’d dealt with far more talented and persistent therapy spies in her time, and some therapy Nazis, she wasn’t fooled by his “Pressure you by informing you there’s no pressure” technique. The number of times she’d rolled her eyes at his attempts made her honestly afraid she was going to strain those delicate muscles. If Lynn had survived Viper tying her down to a lab table and dripping venom directly in her ear while Crow and Bat used her as a guinea pig training her not to break- and she had survived, she wasn’t going to crack at Sam’s attempts. There was no JARVIS in her ceiling to ask her about her mental state or monitor her vitals and alert someone when she started to panic. There was only the reassuring warm pulses of her family clan’s strings shoring up her weak and over stretched places.

Her breakfast was divine. When she was through, she placed all of her used dishes back on the tray and replaced the cover, then dressed comfortably in a soft, flowing knee length skirt and a buttery cotton tee shirt, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be doing any strenuous activities today. Her hair she left loose and free, reveling in the feeling of not having pins or ties in it. While she was at the tower she kept it severely up, a habit because of the triggering nature of all the observation, she felt like she was still an experiment and so she acted like it. A bank of mirrors reflecting what they wanted to see in front of walls and walls and walls, hard lines and mazes that sheltered her innermost core. A core that Viper helped to shelter even as she attempted to destroy it, a core that had only come to light under the patient guidance and tender love and kindness of Marina and Aksel.

For the first time in months, Lynn did not feel like those steps were necessary, she was home.

Lynn walked downstairs and immediately smelled bread baking in the hearth, warm yeast and eggs and the lingering smell of bacon grease. Lynn heard Jeannine playing the harp out on the kitchen patio accompanied by Mem’s soaring, smooth alto voice raised in song, she followed the sounds out onto the porch. To her surprise, the whole clan was gathered on the porch. The chair that everyone referred to as “the throne” a beautifully carved lounge chair Aksel had done in pear wood and that Dave and Aksel had upholstered together using woolen bats and loose wool from their own sheep and had covered in wonderfully hand dyed linen in a decadent shade of blue- Dave had mixed the dyes personally. It was one of the most comfortable seats in the cabin and was usually the source of friendly competition. Today it was vacant, draped in layers of soft fluffy towels, and set up in a place of honor by the side of the patio that stayed shadiest during the day, it was surrounded by the comfortable stools from the den. One of the low worktables from the kitchen had been moved outside and was set up with some of the glazed pottery that contained massage oil- mixed, Lynn knew, by Mem’s own hand- as well as bowls of warm water and stacks of fluffy towels, along with a few plates of finger foods covered with cloth napkins to keep the insects off. In Mem’s lap was a soft terrycloth wrap top, the kind that snapped below the arms people wore for massages. Lynn froze.

The whole clan was gathered, sitting in a cluster chatting quietly, Aksel had a small whittling project out, Mem had a basket of tatting and they were all quietly waiting for her as Jeannine played a soothing improvisational piece on her harp, a rarity since she didn’t often wish to display the full breadth of her musical talent. The clan sensed her arrival and sudden hesitation, turned, and beamed at her. Mem patted the center of the throne invitingly.

“I felt the wicked tension in you last night dear heart. We could all see it. Come set yourself down here and let us pamper you a bit.” She was using her most convincing voice. Lynn did not often seek out pampering from anyone. Instead she sought out solitude and isolation even when everyone could see that she craved company and touch, it seemed the clan had decided that enough hiding was enough.

They were forcing a decision from her. It was a kind decision she knew, there would be no hard feelings harsh words or condemnation if she declined and took off for the forest, but they wished to give her what she desired and they would be slightly disappointed that she was retreating. She sighed, they grinned because they could sense her acquiescence through their strings. She sat. Immediately they shifted, urging her gently with infinitely patient hands to lean back against the comfortable seat, plush with the extra comfort of the towels. Lynn did so, reluctantly. Once she was seated, Mates smiled encouragingly, murmuring reassuring non-words as he guided her to prop her legs up. Aksel came and stood behind the chair, placing his large, strong hands on her shoulders. He tutted sadly at the coiled tension he felt there.

“Your muscles are more twisted than a pile of driftwood Lynn love, breathe with us and let us be rid of it. You are safe, you are loved. Nothing bad or undesirable is going to happen here, you are safe.” His deep booming baritone voice was kind and muted, rumbling like the first herald of a coming thunderstorm, a contented growl of a large cat. Lynn loved his voice and it soothed her greatly but she couldn’t help maintaining the tension in her body as Mem took the stool by her left shoulder and arm, Dave the one by her left foot, Mates her right foot and Fred her right arm and shoulder. She was surrounded. Lynn couldn’t help the slight reactionary shiver of anticipatory fear that roiled through her at the disconcerting sensation. It was ingrained.

Luckily her clan was tender with her, they knew of her triggers and they were careful to keep all of their movements slow and calm, easily within her line of sight. Aksel stayed still as a statue with his hands pressing comfortably firm on the crests of her shoulders, a guardian sentinel against danger. It was a massive help that they were out of doors so Lynn could open her eyes and see the bright azure sky, hear the birdsong mixing with the fey strains of harp music, feel the teasing play of warmth and cool as the wind and the sun danced together with the shadows of the elm tree on her skin. All the clan did for a long moment was rest their hands- warm, friendly, gentle hands- with firm pressure on her limbs and shoulders. The clan waited as Jeannine continued to play a soft haunting melody until the first jump of rigidity slowly melted away and was eased by Lynn’s knowledge that she was safe.

They began to ever so slowly and lightly squeeze the muscles under their hands, gradually increasing the pressure to a firm hold, then easing off again until there was almost no weight to the grip- in almost perfect unison with one another. Eyes met over Lynn with concerned little frowns at the amount of tension that sat like pebbles under their fingers and the uneasy mumbling that escaped Lynn as their hands closed firmly over unexpected muscle knots and cables of tight, unyielding tendons. No wonder she was reluctant. She had to be immensely sore even in a resting state, and she knew how uncomfortable working the coils out could be. There was no doubt that this was needed time doing a necessary activity.

The clan’s hands were dry and placed over Lynn’s clothes and they made no move to shift any of it out of the way. They knew her. She had to step into the pool of relaxation slow inch by slow inch. Were they to hurry this along now that she had agreed, it would damage the tenuous toehold Lynn had on the path to peace with the situation. She was still flighty as a week old foal about certain things even ten years after her continual captivity and two years since her last successful capture- they were in no place to disrespect her boundaries.

The calming, simple pattern of squeezing and relaxing helped soothe Lynn down from the precipice of near panic and needy discomfort in this situation. Her breathing began to gradually even out and deepen, the shuddering hitches and ripples of tension slowly lessened and stilled as her muscles softened slightly and warmed under the comforting pressure of familiar hands and steady repetition. When they felt the rush of her deepest breath yet carry through to her limbs, they knew Lynn was invested in the relaxation of this endeavor and they began to work more in earnest. The grips of their hands changed from merely cupping their whole hands along the large muscle groups to angling along the natural pathways of muscles- more actively questing for and targeting lines of tension and muscle knots.

Using long, smooth strokes with the flats of palms and the pads of their fingers, they kept the pressure diffuse enough to only cause mild discomfort. Not seriously trying to work the individual knots out just yet, merely mapping where the heaviest lines of tension lay. Marina began to sing, at first it was a light, wordless tune in a counter melody over the harp’s haunting strains, but it eventually fell into a meditative repetition of ‘ _easy, easy, easy. Easy sholusholu, easy. Easy, easy, easy.’ As her first few lines repeated, the others joined in, harmonizing with one another and blending together to create a wonderful mix. Another point much different from Lynn’s early experiences with touch to help ground her in the present, in relaxation, in this moment with her clan._

Lynn sighed deeply. Finally, an hour after they started, the last of her active tension seeped from her limbs and her core. Lynn allowed the stroking, gripping, supportive hands of her clan members, her family of the soul to bear all of the weight of her limbs. She melted a little into the padding of the throne and sighed again, her eyes glossing over a bit before drifting closed in peace. Now that she was as fully relaxed as she could get on her own, Marina spoke to her quietly, voice pitched just above a whisper so as not to jar Lynn out of her sweet spot, the nearly trance like state.

“May we move your clothes a bit and get out the oil now my love? It is up to you.” She asked, her gaze sharp on Lynn’s as she waited. There was a subtle nod and a slurred, mumbled

“Yes” from Lynn. It took quite a bit to get Lynn to a place of non-verbal relaxation, but the clan was going to attempt to try. Lynn’s past made it nearly impossible for her to trust anyone enough to truly and fully relax while they were engaged in touch of any kind, she had a major sensory processing disorder and tactile defensiveness which only added to the negative reactions she had if people startled her with unexpected touches or touches that were downright painful to her but considered bland and innocuous by others. This presented a major dilemma because the circumstances of Lynn’s past also made her very hungry for positive touch, she at once craved touch and was fearful of it and that reality made her incredibly awkward when it came to physical awareness and boundaries. If she initiated the touch it wasn’t nearly as offensive to her as when others tried to do so, so she ended up getting to the place of being absolutely starving for physical affection and then throwing herself at people who sometimes were not very receptive. This cycle had backfired so often for Lynn that she now steadfastly refused to touch anyone but the members of her family clan and an extremely few chosen of their close friends like Tommy.

That she was invested in this activity as much as she was, was a major miracle. A miracle that the whole clan was grateful for.

Mem and Mates moved slightly, Mates shifted back to reach for a large, sun-warmed towel, and Mem shook out the wrap top from her lap. With slow, easy movements, Mates covered her top half completely with the towel, Aksel slid his hands to support her shoulder blades and prop her up slightly away from the cushion as Mem’s hands moved confidently beneath the covering of the towel. She slowly pulled the hem of the soft tee shirt up, guided the arm she held through the hole of the shirt and eased it up to Lynn’s collar bone, Aksel shifted his grip and assisted Marina. When the shirt was off, Mem quickly settled the wrap top in place and snapped it securely, only then did they shift the towel to cover Lynn’s lap. Marina and Marina only then gently hiked the smooth skirt up around Lynn’s thighs assisted minimally by Lynn herself, the towel was left in place when she was finished.

Lynn was effectively more covered than she had been when the massage started, but the Clan had much better access to her limbs and her shoulders neck and upper back. Her clothing would also be protected from any errant oil that might have ruined it. Aksel changed the grip of his hands to glide them up and down the sides of Lynn’s neck, carefully gauging Lynn’s reaction the whole time. When she remained relaxed, he worked his fingers carefully and firmly through her hair and supported the full weight of her head as he worked the tension from her scalp and neck, his large, gnarled hands cradling her gently. He paused and transferred to a one handed grip for a moment when Marina brought the oil pot around to accept a handful of oil. Then he worked the fragrant, relaxing oil over her neck and shoulders and up to the base of her skull, his hands gliding comfortably over Lynn’s skin.

The addition of oil only added another layer to the touches Lynn felt, the firmness of their grips never changed, but now the strokes were smoother and a lot nicer, gliding airily along her muscles. They could actually press harder into deeper muscle layers with the oil than they could with dry hands and she immediately felt the difference. Lynn’s skin began to tingle and almost sizzle as the blood flow to it increased. The first twinges of pain also began to surface as the clan began to roll finger tips and bent knuckles over her tightly knotted flesh. The months of constant tension and fear leaving innumerable tracks and traces though her body. Quiet moans began to escape her lips despite her best efforts to control making any noises.

“Easy dear heart, let it out. It’s okay to make noise, yes, it’s okay. We know this part doesn’t feel all that great. Easy. Relax into it and breathe, we’ve got you safe.” Murmured Aksel into her ear as his finger hit a particularly nasty cluster of tension behind her jaw that had her yelping and trying to bite it back. Eventually the pain was too widespread and intense for her not to cry out.

Lynn didn’t fight them even though this portion of the massage was inevitably painful. It was not in her nature or her training to fight them.

She trusted them enough to let them give her this gift, to relax into the grueling sensations that reminded her continually that she was alive. On one level she was grateful for this pain, so different from the pains inflicted upon her in the past, a purely helpful kind of pain. For the past few months she’d felt so cut off and distanced from herself that the novelty of being acutely aware that she was in her body was refreshing and welcomed. Even meeting her soulmates hadn’t been enough to jar her out of that ingrained, glassy, compliant and defiant state she fell into when being observed like a lab rat.

Her soft yelps and moans continued for a long while as the clan painstakingly, patiently worked over the knotted muscles, the corded tendons, and the kinked ligaments under the cloak of Lynn’s skin. Strong, steady fingers doggedly chased nodes and sheets of tension out from over finger joints, smoothed bunched and tight places in long muscles lax again, eased built up chemicals and toxins trapped determinedly under smooth layers of connective tissue until they could feel the reluctant fading of stress and the loosening of Lynn’s body into a melting blissed out puddle. The clan sat there and sang over Lynn, determined and contented. They were in agreement that they needed to let the massage go as long as necessary. Their hands and arms and fingers were strong and tender and patient.

Another hour rolled by with the quiet chatter of birds, the buzzing of bees, the music of wind through the trees, and the lilt of human voices lifted occasionally into song. That hour melted away into the silence of the human gathering as Lynn finally stopped yelping in pain as the knots were gradually worked loose from all of the painful sore places of tension.

Another hour passed, and Lynn was so blissed out by the touch that she could not have moved even if she’d tried, the clan was now simply rhythmically gliding their hands smoothly up and down the long muscles in her arms and legs as Aksel worked small circles up and down the sides of Lynn’s neck and over the crests of her shoulders. She wasn’t asleep, but she was very far away from herself in the hazy in between space of deep peace and relaxation.

After another few minutes, the massaging hands slowed, gradually becoming slower until they rested in firm, grounding grips before being removed from Lynn’s person. Distantly, Lynn was aware of the sound of water, but she didn’t connect it with anything until the hands of her clan-family-clan were back on her skin. This time with warm, wet, herb scented towels. They rubbed her limbs vigorously with the towels, causing a pleasant friction to tingle through her, helping to further increase the blood flow to her skin and muscles, the herbs Lynn smelled would help promote muscle relaxation and the removal of the waste chemicals worked loose by the long massage from her body. After a few minutes of rubbing with the wet towels, they were removed and replaced with dry ones. The chafing tingle on Lynn’s was glorious and delicious.

She loved her clan.


	9. Bruce Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce visits the cabin, and he doesn't really know why.

Bruce was headed on foot down the long, twisting driveway to the Elwood’s cabin filled with a strange mix of anticipation and dread, curious for no apparent reason and somehow sure that they would have answers and not mind his visit unannounced. He was also similarly certain that they would not mind the fact that Natasha had dropped him off and left him. Why this was he could not say. All he really knew at this point was that The Other Guy was intrigued by Lynn. Not in an angry, rage filled SMASH sort of way, but in much the same way as he was intrigued by Betty. What that meant or how the other members of Lynn’s family would be able to help, Bruce didn’t know, but he felt compelled to ask.

As he came walking around one of the bends in their long, wide gravel driveway, a tractor rolled into view coming the opposite way down the drive. A tall somewhat reedy man with mottled sandy hair and piercing intense green eyes wearing a dark leather cowboy hat, jeans, work boots, and a gray tee shirt was driving it. He pulled well to the side of the driveway and stopped the machine when he spotted Bruce. Bruce slowed his pace when the man climbed down from the tractor and walked the last hundred yards or so to meet him in the middle of the driveway.

“Well, hey there push me pull you, to what do we owe the pleasure of another Tower member’s visit? Agent Coulson just visited last week and I’m sure someone else dropped by to see the ladies, though they will say almost nothing about it. Is there something we can help you out with as well?” the man said using a tone that was halfway between exasperated curiosity and hostile sarcasm. Bruce knew that the man’s feelings were not necessarily directed at him in particular, but he couldn’t help but wince at the subtle jab.

“C’mon back to the house, man. Mates is expecting you, so is Aksel. They’re making lunch in the kitchen.” The man’s tone was still abrupt; slightly frosty and matter of fact, but he wasn’t being too openly hostile or unwelcoming to Bruce and he clearly wasn’t afraid.

Hulk was curious and close to the surface, but wasn’t feeling the need to emerge in a SMASH! Sort of way just yet. Strange. This whole day was already so strange. Bruce did not usually handle strange well, at least the kind of strange he couldn’t attack with science and meditation or the strange that had the Hulk bursting forth.

“Thank you, that’s a very kind offer, did Natasha tell you all that I was coming?” he asked as the man turned toward the house and began walking briskly back the way he had come, very cavalierly leaving the tractor parked to the side of the driveway as though it was inconsequential to the day. Bruce thought this was a bit odd and filed it away wondering if it belied some sort of hidden agitation.

“Not quite sure how they knew to expect guests this afternoon, and I’m not sure it was you exactly that they were expecting but sometimes Mates and Aksel are just good at anticipating things like unplanned lunch arrivals.” The man said vaguely, still making no effort to introduce himself and clearly not thrilled to have Bruce here, but willing to guide him to where he needed to go. The rest of the short walk was made in silence, but Bruce noticed that the young man relaxed a little bit as they approached the front door to the house. It stood open invitingly and just outside the door’s reach a fluffy smoke gray tabby cat was sitting regally surveying its domain, tail twitching rhythmically behind it.

When the young man was close enough the cat made a low ‘mrrrt’ noise and leapt at the man’s chest. He caught the cat gently with the ease of long practice and gave it a few strokes before setting it carefully back down on the ground, it promptly began purring and weaving in and out between his legs.

“I don’t have anything for you Allister, you mangy little mooch.” The young man said gruffly as he walked inside motioning to Bruce. There was a faint note of fond affection underneath that harsh tone though, and the cat knew it, it gave a short yowl and a playful swat with sheathed claws at the cuff of the man’s jeans before running off out into the yard. Bruce looked after it for a moment before he followed his host into the house.

The large cabin was beautiful, inviting, open, and simple. The walls painted in warm earth tones with exposed beams and hardwood floors, all the wood finished and oiled to allow the natural array of differing colors and textures to shine through. The entryway was tiled in warm terra cotta colors with a lighter compass rose inlay. The entry branched off about six feet into the house- to the right was a wide, sweeping staircase that led up to the second floor of the house and a turn to the left led Bruce through to an open concept first floor living room, sewing room, and formal dining room. The large dining table was an exquisite handmade masterpiece, the top stained in a gorgeous sweeping pattern that reminded Bruce of ocean waves or grassy hills and the legs were carved in intricately detailed scrollwork that matched the scrollwork carved into the backs of the chairs.

The sewing tables were tucked against the windows on the west wall, sturdy and polished smooth with long use. Fabric lined baskets were lined up underneath the tables and in low shelves to each side of the tables. There were four different sewing machines set up with four different chairs. A light cream colored sewing machine was set up on the left hand end of one of the tables in front of a medium height three legged stool topped with a red gingham cushion. The other two machines were obviously newer models by the same company done in bright nearly clinical white with many different stich settings, in front of the center machine on the table was a straight backed chair with a thick plush pink cushion and the one at the end of the table was paired with a high three legged stool. An antique black finished metal in table sewing machine with a foot pedal was set up kitty cornered to the table with the other three machines and a straight backed wooden chair with a thin denim blue cushion was set up in front of it.

Beautiful woven rugs were scattered through the living room area, the television flanked by large built in bookshelves packed to the brim with books from a large array of genres, there was a glass and burnished nickel coffee table in front of two plush leather couches in a British Tan color set at a right angle to one another. The whole space invited a person to come in and relax, the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and lemon with a trace of linseed oil- the sharp, earthy, bright smells stabbing at Bruce and tickling and tantalizing his nose- suddenly evoking strange, hazy, unfocused flashes of scent triggered memory from the Hulk. Bruce started to get a little worried then but a soft, warm, moist breeze wafted by carrying much stronger aromas of roasting chicken, rosemary, and garlic with apples and sugar and ginger that danced and teased at Bruce’s nose and shifted his attention from his visual exploration of the living space through an archway that led down two steps into a huge tiled kitchen.

The fair haired young man was waiting in the archway for Bruce to follow him. There were at least two other people busy in the kitchen, men by the sounds of their voices, Bruce followed the young man and the delightful scents coming to him and stepped to the edge of the archway. A large, tall, deep chested man with weathered craggy skin, light hair, kind eyes and heavy limbs from hard labor was bent over a pot of boiling water and carefully poking potatoes….while wearing a frilled edge forest green apron that was clearly made especially to fit his large frame. It was an interesting dichotomy. Another young man, also tanned from work in the sun though much shorter, dark haired and stocky, almost squarely built was turning from the oven in the process of taking the roast chicken out of the oven- Bruce could clearly see that his apron was plain, heavy, undyed canvas with deep pockets embroidered in black thread with block letters the words “COOKING APRON WASH AFTER USE” on the front.

“Aksel, he’s here. Where do you want him?” The young fair headed man said as he stepped down into the kitchen. The big man turned slightly with a smile on his face.

“Come in Doctor Banner, take a seat, you can shell the peas. Just pull at the stem with the edge of your fingernail till the seam comes open and then run your thumb along the inside to pop the peas out into the empty bowl. You can toss the pods into that basket by your feet on the floor. My name is Aksel, that young lad with the chicken is Mates, and this is Fred.” He leaned away from the stove to give Fred a solid clap on the back as Fred came further into the room intent on the back door, but the hearty smack to his back had him pausing for a brief moment.

“Thank you Fred, I appreciate your bringing Doctor Banner here. Check in on Gretel on your way by the pens if you wouldn’t mind. I think her time is coming soon, she looked very heavy so I’m leaning towards three or four kids this year, but you know how that sort of thing tends to go.” The man- Aksel- said with a booming chuckle as he turned back to the potatoes. The stoic, fair haired man- Fred- crossed through the busy section of the kitchen and strode out the wide open door that let out to the side of the house onto a rough stone patio with a nod to Aksel as he passed. Aksel grinned at him and a small smile appeared on his face before he disappeared out into the sunlight and fresh air intent on his temporarily aborted afternoon duties.

Aksel chuckled softly again with an affectionate shake of his head, mumbling a little to himself under his breath as he turned to give the stocky dark haired man a saucy wink. He turned his attention to the boiling pot on the burner and with a last decisive poke at the potatoes he turned to reach beneath one of the large, rough- hewn work benches to retrieve a mesh colander. He turned the burner off at the stove, set the mesh colander in the sink and proceeded to drain the potatoes. Bruce went to the worktable that Aksel indicated with a wave of a wooden spoon and lifted the towel off a huge bowl of pea pods. He sat, slightly in awe and strangely at home with how they’d immediately folded him into the activities of meal preparation as though he was an old and trusted friend. Almost as if they didn’t know- or care- who or what he was. He wasn’t all that familiar with shelling peas but he had been to some pretty exotic places with equally exotic fruits and vegetables so he soon picked up the technique. It was somewhat relaxing to focus on a simple task and bask in the unexpected friendly solidarity that seemed to surround him in warmth.

He, apparently, wasn’t immediately expected to state his business or converse at all and the other men in the room seemed comfortable with industrious silence except for a few words of banter and deep, throaty chuckles between themselves every now and again. They mostly talked around him but Bruce somehow still felt included. To his shock he felt the Hulk settle down, close to the surface, aware, but curled lazily and comfortably. Relaxed and content like a cat in a sunbeam. That was absolutely shocking!

The shamans felt the spiking jolts of surprise and shock running off of the frazzled Doctor, the echo of something brash and blaring uneasy and tempestuous. Fiery darts of burnt umber and neon flashes of yellow and orange clearly conveyed his growing confusion and slight alarm. At the same time, they could feel the smooth, eager, joyous acceptance of the Hulk. The throbbing tremble of a low bass hum that undulated like a purr and filled the air between the shamans like a living entity. A warm burst of feeling that emanated from the large warrior-shaman trapped within the scientist curling and settling contentedly into the collective weave along with lazy coils of intense dappled jungle greens and browns with bright bursts of exotic colors like flowering plants for accent.

Aksel raised a brow and shared a look with his boys as Fred went past them to return to his early afternoon chores. The Hulk had probably prompted Banner here, both starving for gentle acceptance and comradery, but most likely Hulk more than poor confused Banner, at the Avengers at least Banner had found his place and was learning to accept who Hulk was. Albeit very grudgingly. Fierce, strong, and protective, primarily intuitive where the Doctor was primarily intellectual, and used to being brought forth by force instead of by choice- it was no wonder the Hulk had been crying out for understanding and no wonder he was close when he finally found it. A shame no one but a fellow shaman could have heard him. No wonder he had recognized Lynn. This might turn into an interesting afternoon. An interesting afternoon indeed.

Both shamans proceeded as if this revealing string information had not been quite loudly and desperately broadcast, the Doctor clearly had no understanding of what was going on and it was best not to force anything to the surface, Hulk appeared to be content to wait and bask.

“How’s the chicken looking Mates? Does it need a few more minutes or is she done?” He called over the sound of the water rushing into the drain.

“She’s well cooked, she just needs to rest. What other vegetable are we having besides the peas?”

“Glazed carrots are always a favorite, the beets are looking good, the bed of Bok Choy looked about ready or you could always go cull some lettuce greens and some tomatoes for a lovely salad, if you’re going out we’re low on cut basil and mint.” Aksel listed off absently as he finished draining the potatoes and then lifted the colander back over the still warm pot, using a wooden spoon to push some of the cooked potatoes through the sieve and dumping the rest into the pot with generous portions of warmed butter and cream. He gave the pot what for with a wooden potato masher, taste tested the results and added another small dash of salt.

“What brings you to the cabin Doctor Banner?” Mates asked quietly as he carefully transferred the roasting pan to the worktable in the center of the room and placed a ceramic dome over the top of the roast bird- pan and all. He turned to look at Bruce, who was still studiously shelling peas, and came to join him at the task on the other side of the workbench, diving in and giving Bruce a lovely smile like he hadn’t just gone for the jugular with a reasonable if unanswerable question. Bruce's head tilted a little to the side and he took a deep fortifying breath as he shelled another pea. The pile of empty pods was growing larger in and around the basket at his feet, most of the peas were in the bowl in front of him, though a few had escaped out onto the table and rolled into the grout lines on the floor. He took a moment to survey the mess and then calmly looked the other man in the eyes.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I was…curious.” He admitted softly as he quietly tore at the next pea pod. Mates merely gave a non-committal humming sound before helping Bruce attack the rest of the pods in front of them. He took the bowl of shelled peas to the sink and poured them with a bit of water, some butter, a dash of salt and pepper, and a small splash of oil into a large copper skillet. He covered them with a lid and set the burner to a soft, low light before tapping Aksel on the upper arm and indicating the new flame, grabbing yet another empty basket from yet another shelf and making his way back toward where Bruce sat.

“Grab that there pod basket and come on out with me Doctor Banner.” He invited warmly as he grinned and made his way outside. Bruce did as he asked.

“You can feel free to call me Bruce if you like. Doctor Banner’s a bit formal when I’m sitting in your kitchen and helping you with meals.” Bruce murmured as he followed along behind the young man.

“Alright then, Bruce. Salad, glazed carrots, beets, or bok choy? Something else I didn’t mention sound particularly good? We grow all manner of vegetables here and most are in season at the moment.” Bruce shrugged noncommittally.

“Looks like most of the work for the meal is already done, so whatever is easiest to prep and cook so nothing that's finished goes cold.” Bruce remarked. Mates suddenly stopped dead in the path and turned to look at Bruce, serious and solemn.

“As a guest in our home, a person worth respect and care, and one who can be counted as a friend, it is our desire as good hosts while you are with us to serve you what you will enjoy if we can. We can, in this case. Not to mention that as an honored member of a team renowned for extraordinary and marvelous accomplishments, a man able to count himself among friends of the great and mighty, a savior of the world- you are due much, whether you accept that or not is up to you alone. Our light dinner is of the type that can be easily reheated. If you want something that takes time and preparation, it would be our pleasure to present it to you. So I ask again Bruce, what is your preference for vegetables this day?” Bruce flushed under the younger man’s direct and honest gaze. He sighed and shuffled a bit and his eyes took on a hazy far-away cast as he stared past Mates’s shoulder out over the yard.

“Beets and carrots roasted together with some of the chicken drippings from the bottom of the roasting pan till they get the slightest bit crisp on the edges.” He said quietly a few seconds later. Mates looked him over carefully for a moment and there was a sad sort of nostalgic smile as he murmured his reply into the sunny afternoon air.

“The familiar tastes of home we can never quite leave behind. Beets and carrots it is.” Then he turned and made his way toward a near field like he hadn’t said anything like the commentary on Bruce’s earliest childhood memories. Stunned, Bruce followed the curious young man down the path. Mates paused at a low fence and gestured to Bruce.

“Just empty your basket over that fence, toss it well out into the grass and the chickens and rabbits will eat those pods up like candy, then we’re on to the near field to pull some root veggies.”

~~**~~

Their time together pulling carrots and beets out of the ground was spent in silence, a calm and comfortable contemplative silence that baffled Bruce to no end and made him uneasy. He should be nervous still, they should be terrified of him, they knew who he was, they knew about the Hulk and yet they treated him with a homey sort of brisk, practical aplomb that blew him away and kept the Hulk present but quiet. The Hulk. Quiet! It was strange not to have to fight for control when Bruce was as nervous and uneasy as he currently was. Though he had become a master at hiding his panic and fear behind a distracted and mousy persona so as to be more easily overlooked, it didn’t mean that those feelings weren’t still present. Strange, all of this was very strange. But he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, it just was.


	10. Bruce Part 2 (and some fighting happens)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce thinks about what Mates said....meanwhile elsewhere a friendly...not so friendly... fight occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Mari... No words. Thanks for that particularly vicious plot bunny cross bred with a jaguar :)

Though he had become a master at hiding his panic and fear behind a distracted and mousy persona so as to be more easily overlooked, it didn’t mean that those feelings weren’t still present.

Present those feelings most certainly were. Panic and fear Bruce had in plenty right now, but other than those two emotions which were admittedly unexpectedly very strong and nearly primal in him at the moment, Bruce had no way to explain what other emotions he was feeling truly or why he was feeling the way that he was. Intellectually he understood that he really had no reason to be panicked and afraid at the moment, other than general Hulk concerns, which were small. He had a difficult enough time dealing with his own emotions on a day to day basis that to have them so disrupted now was awkward and unsettling. The most unsettling part of the whole picture was the fact that the Hulk was utterly and undeniably calm, there wasn’t so much as a tickle or stretching sensation in any corner of Bruce’s brain that would herald Hulk simply taking a good look around their surroundings. There was not one peep.

Bruce was used to having to constantly be aware of and consciously control the Hulk, maintaining a vigilance of his own mental, emotional and physical states as well as the situations and circumstances cropping up in his environment, leashing the Hulk more often than not for stupid things like minor lab accidents, unexpected people entering his lab, or a joke or prank that went unknowingly too far and brought up awful memories. That wasn’t happening here and Bruce simply could not for the life of him understand why Hulk was content to let lie now when he should be responding to the heart pounding anxiety and causing a scene by raging around tearing up the gardens. It made absolutely no sense!

“Well I think we certainly have enough veggies for everybody, let’s head on back to the kitchen and cook these up. While these are roasting, Aksel will probably want to go out and check the flock, there are a few goats that are heavily pregnant right now including Aksel’s favorite, so he’s being a bit of a mother hen.” Mates chuckled out, effectively breaking in to Bruce’s private panic fest as he turned toward the doctor. The smile slowly faded from his face as he met Bruce’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? You look very worried and upset, I hope it’s nothing we did. Fred can be a bit antisocial and gruff it’s true, but I would hope that he remembered his manners and that he wasn’t rude to you.” He ventured as he stepped a little closer to Bruce.

“No, I’m working myself up thinking over some things that are confusing me. Being here is just so strange that I’m feeling all sorts of odd, complicated, unnamable emotions and it’s making me…uneasy.” Bruce replied after a moment, sighing and straightening up from the gentle, familiar crouch he had adopted while pulling the vegetables from the ground and stretching his muscles and tendons. Mates chuckled again, reaching over and clapping Bruce gently on the back in a friendly way.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least Doctor Banner. Many people who first come visit us say that it is strange to be here at the cabin. Indeed they say that we are strange folk. With you it is even less surprising though, when you did not choose to come here on your own- led by someone with a much more intense desire to connect and belong than you yourself possess- which is a feat in and of itself may I say for you are quite thirsty to belong. But you are afraid to admit that as a fact because you do not want to recognize the wealth of character and complexity that Hulk possesses as an individual. You only wish to see him falsely as he has been wrongly portrayed instead of finding out how he truly is.” The observation so startled Bruce that for a moment he could only stare at Mates with a look of wide eyed incomprehension.

“What? You thought we didn’t know that you are but one full half of two who share one whole? You thought that because we choose when we can to live out here where public cell phone and Wi Fi signals are spotty and weak at best, we would have no access to the information and news of the world? That we are making moves toward accepting you not because we are choosing to for any positive reason but because we are ignorant?” Mates went silent after asking those questions, shaking dirt and loam off of his hands and clothing as he too stretched out and then bent to retrieve his basket and Bruce’s before calmly starting towards the cabin still visible in the distance.

Wisely, he left Bruce alone with his now even more tumultuous thoughts. The man stood still as a statue in the garden, not bothering to say anything to Mates’ retreating back and completely oblivious to the fact that he was now alone as he absorbed what Mates had said.

~~**~~

“Mates my boy, whatever did you say to the good doctor to have his strings bouncing around and flaring like a July grasshopper in a hot skillet?” Aksel asked with a raised eyebrow as he came back into the kitchen and put the baskets at the edge of the sink.

“The truth. Merely the truth. He thought we didn’t know about Hulk, he thought we were ignorant country bumpkins with barely any contact with the outside world. Which is not true and I’m surprised he thought it so in the first place, he knows Coulson at the very least has come to see us and Lynn’s in the bloody Tower. Even if that were true, you and Mem have enough wisdom to drown the state of New York, and you’ve very graciously tried to pass that wisdom on to us. Such an important detail as an attention starved warrior-shaman in the Hulk would not have slipped by us for long even if we had been unaware!” Aksel beamed at those words, he moved from the stove and embraced the son of his heart in a firm and encompassing hug.

“You compliment and honor me and Marina, Mates. You and all the members of our little family-clan. Not that it has ever been perfect or easy by any stretch of the imagination but I would not trade a second of it for anything.” He said with a wink and a chuckle. His eyes got a little misty as he added quietly, “I am very proud to call you son.” Aksel moved back to the stove and turned off the burners under the pots and pans. Everything was finished cooking now, ready to be consumed at everyone’s leisure and so Aksel turned his attention to the contents of the baskets Mates brought in. Continuing the conversation as he began to scrub the vegetables with a dry brush into a piece of old canvas, saving most of the good dirt from going down the drain when he rinsed the veggies afterwards.

“Doctor Banner, who wished to be called Bruce before I hit him with a truth he found profound, would like us to roast these in a pan with some of the drippings from the chicken until they get just crispy on the edges. I estimate that process to take anywhere between thirty five to forty five minutes at the low end and an hour to about an hour and a half at the high end, so we will have to reheat the meal. But as I am not terribly hungry currently, I don’t suspect that to be a big problem.” Mates commented as he removed a cutting board and sharp chef’s knife along with a smaller roasting pan from various cabinets and shelves.

“If anyone needs a snack in the meantime they are welcome to the pantry, goodness knows Fred and David will need a bit of something after hauling the hay out to the far field. I do hope that what you said sinks past the well of panic and prejudice the good doctor has for Hulk, it runs deep and wide in him Mates, and that is worrying to me.” Aksel commented as he folded the old canvas square up and set it in an out of the way corner on the floor. He began rinsing and lightly scrubbing the carrots and beets handing them off to Mates when he was done.

“I don’t think we should be too terribly worried. Banner is very intelligent and focused and he has been forced to make wary peace with his emotions on at least some basic level, we can help him there if he will let us.” Mates commented as he began to chop the beets and carrots into half inch pieces before tossing them in the roasting pan.

“That is the question, is it not? Not if we can help him, but if he will let us? His strings are an overextended jumbled, twisted riot of a mess and they are tangled in painfully nasty ways with Hulk’s strings.”

“Beloved, please do not begin gossiping about our painfully out of sorts guests and kindly discuss their issues when they can add to the conversation.” Marina said, a note of disapproving censure barely tinging her voice as she breezed into the room from the second floor, coming over to the sink and placing her arms about Aksel’s waist from behind, her head on his shoulder.

“Forgive me _hovenisbeit_ we got caught up in the discussion.” Marina tapped him lightly on the stomach.

“You know better Aksel my love,” She said sternly, turning her gaze to Mates with a slightly raised eyebrow she continued, “As do you my son.” Mates dipped his head and flushed just slightly under the collar. Marina had the ability to make him feel like a naughty twelve year old caught sneaking sweets in four seconds flat.

“Forgive me Mem.” A burst of violet and cerulean emanated off of Marina as she smiled brightly.

“I forgive the both of you, now Mates, you and I shall finish up this last dinner preparation. Aksel, go out at once and see to our boys, you were too fascinated with our guests to notice the tensions boiling under your own nose!” She laughed aloud as both Aksel and Mates focused in on the clan’s weave for a moment, and then Aksel startled with a short wordless cry as he turned and strode purposefully out the kitchen door in the direction of the far field. Mates gave her a brief, pointed and amused look as he turned back to chopping.

“Don’t give me that look my boy! I just had to put the two of you in your place, it would not be fair if I did all the work around here now would it? Besides, you know how those two get when they actually disagree, think how terrible they’d both feel if I were to step into the middle of that! It’s best for everyone if Aksel goes to stop those two before it turns to a brawl.” Marina commented with a pealing laugh as she snagged an apron from the hook by the arch and rolled her sleeves up to continue the washing where Aksel had left off.

“Indeed. They do tend to get a bit…rowdy.” Mates said dryly as he kept chopping. Marina patted him gently on the shoulder, giving him a bright smile when he looked at her.

“I love you Mates, very much. I’m not worrying about the boys, Aksel will have it well in hand before supper or I will have his head. Now what have you been up to these last few days? Is Tommy going to come out to the cabin at some point soon? What about Hannah or Gordon or any of the other vagabonds you were so fond of dragging out here back in your military school days.” Mates laughed.

“Well, I haven’t really talked to Hannah or Gordon in a bit, I believe Gordon’s deployed at the moment, Hannah’s stationed somewhere classified so she can’t just pop round or send a text whenever she wants to. Tommy’s been avoiding us because of the whole Lynn fiasco, you might have to be the one to invite him, he’ll ignore me but he can’t ignore you, you’re a dynamo Mem.” That had them both chuckling, the atmosphere light and free once more despite the growing tempests from a few members of the group as they settled in for a nice productive chat over meal preparation. Each keeping an attuned ear on the strings of the clan and of their guests.

Bruce was still absorbing what Mates had told him, mulling over the questions anxiously over and over and over again like he was juggling worry stones. His strings were taut and flashing in neon bright colors thrumming and vibrating with an intense, warbling chord that was particularly jarring. Fred and David’s strings were like thunder and lightning in a spring thunderstorm clashing and tempestuous and brash, every once in a while an intense flare of rage would spike off of Fred’s normally calm strings, all Mem did was raise an eyebrow and hum in the back of her throat. After one extremely violent flash she turned to Mates and said very blandly, nearly clinically, almost as if she were commenting on a golf game.

“Seems those two had some issues to get out of their systems. If either one of them comes back bloodied I will be most appalled by the situation, think we’ll have to go out there and get them?”

“I should hope not.”

“Wise boy.”

**~~**

“What is the meaning of this discontented rabble rousing?!” Aksel cried upon striding up the hill and finding David and Fred rolling around on the ground wrestling, scrabbling and grabbing and clawing at one another. It wasn’t a true drag out match of angered fisticuffs as there were no purposeful well aimed close fisted blows being exchanged as of yet and neither young man looked harmed, but the roiling, bubbling, boiling tensions of their strings thoroughly convinced Aksel that what he was seeing was no lighthearted roughhousing romp, but a true disagreement of some kind. Their frenetic and angered movements only slowed at his arrival, Aksel knew that the tensions of the last few months were weighing on everyone and so he was content to let this rumbling hands on disagreement go on for a while if that was what it took to get the negative crap these two were harboring out into the open air. As one wise green ogre once said ‘better out than in’ He settled in to monitor the situation, the intensity picked back up as both rascals realized Aksel wasn’t intent on breaking up the scuffle just yet.

Just because he knew his boys and was allowing the rough behavior, that didn’t mean he was going to risk their safety or the wrath of his wife if he brought them back to the cabin with black eyes, bruised ribs, or split lips. Aksel was not an unintelligent man. The tone of the scuffle suddenly soured in a second and Aksel knew, he just knew it was about to turn very, very ugly. He felt the instant alertness of the rest of the clan, the sharp nudge from Marina and the fluttery, anxious hovering from Jeannine, a knowing poke from Mates, and surprisingly, a smooth, aware, questing inquiry from Hulk. That was a tad shocking, but a very good sign. He sent a wash of _peace, secure, love_ through the strings out to the rest of the family and a sharp commanding **_stop!_ ** To his boys, sighing loudly when they ignored it, and moving purposefully toward them, telegraphing his knowing displeasure at the sudden down-turn of the proceedings.

Aksel marched up the hill the rest of the way to within twenty feet of them and halted, a looming, slightly displeased presence at the edges of their awareness, they cursorily acknowledged that he was there but it did not deter them from continuing the scuffle. Or from allowing the scuffle to further acidify, which it did in short order and sort of made Aksel want to scream and bang his head against the unsuspecting oak tree, but as that wouldn’t help anything, he refrained. He was still too far away to hear what David said to Fred about three minutes later, but it escalated things considerably whatever it was. Fred roared and grabbed for Dave’s throat, clearly going for a serious choke hold of some kind and pinning David into the dusty earth of the field. Enough. This was quite enough. When sharp, firm, tight yanks on their soul threads didn’t warn them to stop the fight, Aksel sighed through his nose at his sons’ pigheadedness and dove at them with all the ferocity of a full grown grizzly.

“Enough! Enough!” He cried in a loud, firm, commanding tone as he closed in on them. Grabbing Fred with a solid grip in the hair at the back of his head and David firmly by his shirt collar, Aksel gave them both an exasperated, terrier like shake and pulled them briskly apart. When this didn’t immediately resolve the scuffle, both boys still panting and glaring and grabbing for each other, Aksel barked “Stop this instant!” and, regretting the tongue lashing he knew he was getting from Marina later, immediately banged their foreheads together roughly once.

That stunned them enough to have David letting go of his brother and backing down but Fred was in a very considerable towering wordless rage, he cried out- a sound more suitably described as the enraged call of a wounded predator than any sound a human might make, and began to fight Aksel’s steady, business-like hold on him. Aksel shifted from a one handed hold in his son’s hair to a solid two handed grip and barely caught the edge of David’s knowing smirk as he brought Fred to the ground, settling his considerable weight on top of Fred. He turned disappointed, frustrated, upset eyes to David, glaring what amounted to daggers at his grown, adult, possibly mature son, and barked.

“Park it right there and do not move! So help me! If you choose to act like brawling schoolboys instead of grown men when I give you a liberty to work out your anger and frustrations I will treat the pair of you like children!” before turning his attention more fully back to Fred.

“Stop this instant! Frederick Elwood! What is Marina going to say about this behavior? I can tell you right now that whatever it is it’s probably not going to be pleasant. Calm down.” He said sharply, and then quieted. None of them would benefit from more angry words right now. He focused on breathing himself down from his own anger and frustration at the escalation. As David had waited to throw that last verbal barb until after Aksel was close enough to intervene, he could only assume that David had reserved it to use when he knew there would be backup. David was a very keen speaker and he delighted in using words as weapons. As this was the case he had had to have very careful instruction about the proper use of words in his younger years, and he could craft a delightfully complex insult in a matter of mere moments under the right circumstances. For him to be turning that particular skill on one of the clan spelled big trouble, the only question now was trouble of what nature? Aksel couldn’t be entirely sure.

Fred continued to rage and snort like a bull beneath him as he pinned him securely to the ground, there were very few things in this world that could so distress his normally very even tempered son.

Aksel began attuning himself very acutely into the strings of the two young men in the field with him. There were strange, smugly vindictive vibrations coming off of David’s strings, he was angry, hurt, but much more coolly collected than Aksel would have thought considering the intensity at the end of the physical altercation. David had most likely instigated the original argument as well as stirring up the full strength of Fred’s ire with whatever incendiary comment he’d chosen to use earlier. Aksel focused on sending out calm, cool, collected messages of comfort and peace through his strings though he couldn’t help the overtones of frustration and disappointment that colored them in dusky gray green washes. He breathed deeply and slowly, steadying his own heart and soul, stilling his own confused whirling emotions in direct contrast to the red faced, thrashing young man he had pinned under his hands. After a few minutes when he felt the violent, shuddering tremors of Fred’s muscles fighting his hold begin to lessen enough that he did not have to concentrate so hard on keeping him still, Aksel took a deep, fortifying breath, turned his head and looked at David.

“What could Fred have possibly said or done to get you so angry that you riled him up to the point that he can’t even speak. This is very disappointing David.”

“This isn’t my fault Aksel!” David exclaimed, loud vibrant mustard yellows and reds flaring off of him in a nimbus. Fred’s muscles bunched up in reaction to fight again. Fates save him from ridiculous adult sons who acted like they were still in grade school! Aksel sighed loudly. Barely maintaining a hold on his own temper.

“David.” There was a warning tone in Aksel’s voice now and David interrupted him before he could continue into the beginnings of a lecture.

“He came out here itching for a fight, okay! He’s been itching for a fight for days Aksel, he insulted me and pestered me and annoyed me and picked at me until I gave in and gave him what he wanted.” David retorted, arms firmly crossed, his gaze intense and a bit defiant as he stared Aksel directly in the eyes. That made too much sense.

After a few moments surveying David’s soul strings and seeing the fresh pain reopened, the righteous anger, the hot orange and yellow and red flares that temporarily masked the oily blue black rush of pain, Aksel sighed.

“Forgive me lad for jumping to wrong conclusions, this was a grave misunderstanding but it was not entirely your fault. Though that second barb you launched into your brother as payback did not go unnoticed son.” David looked away at that last bit. Aksel turned back to Frederick, attempting to catch his eyes and hold them for longer than a few passing seconds. He took a very careful inventory of Fred’s strings, normally, Fred was difficult to read even for a seasoned shaman because he had learned how to carefully wall off sections of himself and play his cards very close to the vest. Right now the floodgates of Fred's soul were blown wide open and very clear to read at the moment thanks to the force of his towering rage. There was pain in abundance, fear and loneliness and odd guilt and shame ridden flashes that popped up and disappeared a moment later like shadows on the surface of the water, exhaustion featured heavily and frustration. _Laddie why? Why do this to yourself?_ Aksel lamented silently as he stared at the wealth of suffering Frederick had been carrying around by himself for the Fates only knew how long.

“Fred. Fred my boy, come back.” Aksel murmured into his son’s face, watching closely for signs that the blinding emotion was easing back. Aksel kept up a gentle flow of calm words much like he did for the rest of his clan-family-clan in times of great sorrow or distress, the steady tone of the words helping to gentle a person back down from the precipice of high emotion. Gradually Fred relaxed, his eyes becoming more focused and his breathing easing back from the enraged snorting gasps to something more conscious and controlled, but Aksel still did not let him go. Not even when Fred asked him to a little while later.

“Let me up.”

“No laddie, I do that and you’ll run for the hills and hide from us licking your wounds and then try to pretend this never happened.” Aksel said with a short, mirthless laugh.

“I do not want to talk about this.” Fred ground out, trying for a reasonable tone even as he tried to buck Aksel off of himself so he could get away.

“Yeah? I don’t either. Clearly this needs to be talked about because you’ve been holding on to it for a very, _very_  long while bro.” Dave said a little while into the painful, awkward silence that followed Fred’s attempt at escape. Fred blanched and turned towards David’s voice, eyes blowing wide as he looked at his adopted brother.

“Shit! David, I’m so sorry, you can come punch me in the face if you want I said such fucking awful shit to you! Dude, come here and hit me, I deserve it!” His voice got higher and higher pitched until it cracked and he turned away from David a great wave of sorrowful remorse crashing over him, one so deep and high that Aksel didn’t even want to know what Fred had said to David. Even not knowing, just seeing the evidence of the harsh painful words made his soul ache to the very core. David’s strings only got a little lighter at the clearly sincere apology, he huffed and crossed his arms again.

“I would punch you in the face, but Mem would not take kindly to that. Yeah, you said some fucking shitty things to me dude. Why? Why the fuck would you say that crap to me? On purpose?”

“I was really, really angry.” David coughed at that and glared at Fred.

“That’s a fucking stupid reason and you know it bro.” Fred looked away silently. Aksel sighed, knowing it was time for honest truth, and spoke.

“There was guilt and shame and fear Frederick, tightly controlled and buried deep. Out with it my boy and let us be rid of it. We love you and care about you and we aren’t going to completely reject you because you make us angry or say terribly hurtful things or because you fight with us and force us to pin you to the ground to get you to listen because you are pigheadedly stubborn or because you enjoy being alone much of the time. If that were true you wouldn’t still be here in our cabin, in our clan, in our lives, if that were true we would have given up on you long ago when you were an angry twelve year old brat too crass and too cocky for his own good. We won’t even give up on you now because you’ve decided to try a stint at acting EXACTLY like snotty twelve year old you.”

Aksel raised an eyebrow and looked intently between the two of them as he assessed the situation. David shifted a bit closer and settled on the ground, he still wasn’t close enough to touch and he still wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but unlike Fred, he could resist his natural impulse to run away from hard conversations during periods of intense emotional strain. Right, the strings were looking a bit more settled. Aksel took another deep breath and sighed softly. Then looked between his two sons once more and said briskly into the air between them.

“Now. Are we ready to sit here and act like grown adults about this, or do I need to continue pinning a twenty seven year old man to the ground because he insists on acting like he’s twelve?” The wry question brought a dry chuckle and Aksel smiled slightly and moved off of Fred, keeping nearby in case he decided to act on his twelve year old instincts and bolt.

**~~**


	11. The Boys Resolve Things

“I fucking hate being treated like absolutely nothing happened Aksel! The sheer nerve! They expect us to sing campfire songs and be happy little simpletons like everything terrible and horribly abusive and awful that ever went on never occurred. Treat them like they had no part in it. I just can’t fucking do it!” Fred thundered, pounding his fist into the ground as he glared at nothing, his gaze trapped somewhere dark and far away. Aksel sighed, partly in relief that Fred was finally talking, and partly in pain. Fred was glaringly correct, it was rather stupid of Fury and SHIELD and the Avengers to expect the clan to pick up and move on like serious injury hadn’t occurred.

“It’s like they expect us to forget that Fury sent a STRIKE team infested with HYDRA agents to our house in the dead of night to force us to come in like we were international criminals. They want us to ignore the fact that Lynn and quite possibly the rest of the clan is still being actively hunted for experimentation and torture by HYDRA, coerced into it by SHIELD! They stupidly wish we’d ignore the fact that we’ve been hurt and screwed over and lied to and cheated and beaten down if they pretend it never happened even though we all know it did. They have the sheer audacity to accuse our family of abusing and neglecting Lynn and insisting they can do a better job just because they have fancy degrees and they rely on the internet to do their talking for them! It SUCKS and I cannot do it, I can’t and you can’t expect me to be okay with it and act cordial and use my best manners when they hurt us and they won’t even admit that what they did was wrong! It was wrong and it was not okay and I hate it!”  

   Fred set his jaw and Aksel heard his teeth squeak painfully as they ground together.

“Forgive me if it felt like I was asking that of you, I was not. Please forgive me Fred, forgive your Mother and your clan for not seeing these wounds and helping you shoulder the burden before they got this bad. I wish that you had felt free to speak of this much earlier. You are absolutely right, it seems to be what they are doing. I can understand how it feels intentional and in some cases it might be. However, at least on the Avenger’s part, I think this behavior is out of pure ignorance rather than intentional malice.”

Fred snorted, but now that the issue was out in the open and his rage had dissipated, he was listening. Aksel nodded.

 “Hear me out my son. We can all agree that Fury’s strings are as corrupt and twisted as they can possibly be, he grabs only for power however he can get it and chooses to damn the consequences. It will bite him one day for he has burned a few hundred too many bridges in his time at SHIELD. Coulson is so blinded by his loyalty and desire to do good that he cannot necessarily see where the path of following his orders has taken a toxically wrong turn. This willful ignorance is sheer stupidity and desire to search for some shred of light in a world of shades of darkness, but I think we may have pulled part of that blindfold off. I have hope that Coulson is not actually a stupid man, just a man making stupid choices. The STRIKE teams are in HYDRA’s pocket and I would not trust them around anyone so far as I could yank their strings and pin them. We gave as good as we got that night, and that might have intrigued Fury and set Crow and Viper sniffing again, but they learned just how unpleasant it can be to tangle with a clan of shamans, now, didn’t they?”

David snorted, strings still turbulent with unresolved feelings of hurt and guilt. Aksel had to get to the bottom of this before he brought the boys anywhere near Doctor Banner and the Hulk.

He very closely studied the tapestry of strings and found something pleasantly surprising. Hulk was still intently aware of what was going on with the strings, but he seemed very relaxed. Alert and watchful, of course, but relaxed. The only reason Aksel could think for that to be the case was that it intrigued Hulk that they would air grievance and fight and tumble and throw towering rages around him when usually everybody tried very hard to mask their emotions from him so that he didn’t feel the need to come out and protect Bruce. Burying emotions behind masks was a technique that worked with varying degrees around normally intuitive people, but usually didn’t work around a shaman.

Hulk was an especially emotionally intuitive and intelligent shaman- the burying and evasiveness must be irritating at best and enraging at worst, because it was absolute TORTURE to know that **SOMETHING was WRONG** and not be able to **FIX IT.** Aksel wondered if Bruce realized that he provoked the Hulk into emerging by smothering his own emotions without truly feeling or processing them, especially his rage and pain. The similarities between his son and Doctor Banner almost made him chuckle, but he refrained though amusement hummed over his strings faintly.

“We’re shamans Aksel, we should be able to prevent and predict these things so much better than we do! Why does Lynn always seem to get the short end of the shit stick and land in these really awful predicaments! We should be able to protect her!”  At David’s words, Aksel raised a pointed eyebrow. Aha. He looked over at Fred and noticed a peculiar expression on his face, there was the guilt and the shame and the fear.

“We’re shamans David. We can do some pretty extraordinary things, we shoulder quite a bit of the burdens of the world and the people who live in it. We are sensitive to change and pain and fear and joy and everything else that makes the tapestry of soul threads that much bigger and brighter and amazing. Sometimes we can see the patterns that go amiss in the weave and we save people, and it’s beautiful, it is. We’re shamans, but we’re human too my boy. Human as the rest of them just with a little extra. We make mistakes and we miss signs and we screw up just like everyone else.” Aksel sighed and looked out over the field, the half unloaded tractor, and the bales stacked at the edge and then turned to look at his sons. He looked them both square in the eyes for a long moment, solemn and sincere before he continued.

“We can’t predict all the pain and suffering in the world, and we can’t prevent it all or completely erase the effects it has on people afterward. Not for the world, not for the Convocation, not for our clan and not for ourselves. I’m heart sore over all that has taken place for me and mine, I am. I know that I did everything I could in the moment to prevent as much damage as possible at the time. We are not responsible for the suffering that Lynn has faced, that Lynn is facing right now. The both of you need to find a way to release all of this toxic shame and guilt surrounding the matter.” He looked wryly between his two stubborn sons and chuckled a bit, the sound slowly dissipating on the warm breeze, he was pleased when he noticed that their strings - so thoroughly tight before that the pressure was an uncomfortable almost painful yanking- slowly eased and gentled.

“We’ve seen what happens when you two bury this sort of thing and don’t talk about it enough, haven’t we?”

They both nodded a bit sheepishly, but a small grin was peeking out of the corner of David’s mouth as he turned to look at the sky.

The three of them sat in silence for a few more minutes, content to soak in the peace and serenity of their company on the hill. Aksel sighed and stretched surveying the field with the half unloaded tractor and neatly stacked hay bales. He gave them a few more minutes quiet on the hill, till the echoes of their emotional upheaval had stopped so violently thrumming across the warp and weft of the clan’s weave. Then Aksel stood and clapped his hands together looking pointedly at the tractor, Fred grinned and whooped.

“Time for some work now David!” before he sprinted over to the tractor, jumped aboard the bed and began slinging hay bales out onto the ground. Aksel let out a mighty booming, throaty chuckle and joined him, carrying the bales to the stacks as they thudded with dusty plumes to the grass.


	12. Rage, in motion, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hulk isn't the only one with Anger Issues

A scream shattered the peace permeating the cabin, a scream so full of rage and frustration and anguish that it was nearly a roar. Roiling up through the weave of the clan came a tide of unbridled, vast anger, a roiling cloud of deepest midnight blue-black so intense and borderless that it was nearly a void. Glass breaking accompanied the second scream. Every member of the clan dropped what they were doing to come running.  Tiny pinpoints of grief and anger and confusion burned in that cloud of rage glaring bright like stars before being snuffed out again, occluded by that all-consuming cosmos of pure, unadulterated fury.

Another roar and another tinkling spatter of crockery against tile. She was in the kitchen.

Aksel got there first, sure and steady on lightning feet he flew down the stairs from his workroom and came upon the scene. Lynn was standing in the midst of a pile of broken glassware, trembling violently, teeth ground together in a terrible grimace as breath tore through her body in great heaving snorts. She picked up an urn from the counter and hurled it into the pile, buttermilk spilling out and splattering against the floor and the lower part of the walls. Lynn didn’t even flinch when the liquid lapped against her sandaled toes.  

There was no leashing this beast back, Aksel wasn’t near foolhardy enough to attempt it. She wasn’t rational or aware enough for touch or speech or anything other than an acceptable target, and he wasn’t going to make himself available as a target either. He made eye contact with David who came panting to the living room door and made his way around Lynn, giving her a very wide berth ad broadcasting his presence over their weave as loudly as possible. He backed the pair of them into the living room and murmured quietly to his son as he watched Lynn smash a tray of teacups by hurling them against the wall,

“We’re going to need to get her out to the practice field and we’re going to need all of the pads, probably a baton and shield setup, and the entire bucket of clay pigeons that Marina tossed for you boys last winter, go and get the boys and set it up. Send your mother and Jeanne to me through the front.” David disappeared without a word as soon as Aksel quieted. Another cup rained shards onto the terra cotta accompanied by an explosive epithet. Aksel moved back into the doorway, prepared to step in the instant Lynn appeared as though this was taking an even uglier turn, breathing and bracing for the fight to get her out to the field that was to come.

        Marina and Jeanne came to him, brimming all over with concern, bright and wary sentinels at his shoulders. None of them spoke but they moved as one after a quick inspection revealed that they were both sensibly shod in boots as he was. Marina announced their presence as they stepped down fully into the kitchen from the archway.

“Alright dear, let’s move this out to the field, Fates know you have every right to be seething, but it’s time to stop taking it out on my tea sets.” A wordless howl of rage was the only response from Lynn. She moved to get another dish, but there were no more within easy reach of her position, she growled and moved to get more off of the drying rack. Marina snapped out a rebuke in a firm tone.

“Lynn Elwood. No. The boil’s open now baby, no stuffing this back under the rug. You will take this destruction out of doors where it belongs.”  When Lynn moved as if to ignore Mem, she sighed and the three shamans behind Lynn began moving even as Marina kept talking an a smooth matter of fact voice.

“We are taking you out to the field Lynn, there’s too much in here you can hurt yourself with, you’re safe and we want you to stay safe. It’s me and Aksel and Jeanne and we are going to the field. Now” The three shamans as a well-coordinated unit, smoothly and swiftly boxed Lynn in and took control, Marina and Jeanne each grasping an arm gently but unyieldingly by firm grips around her biceps and supporting her wrists while Aksel lifted her clean off the ground holding her so closely and so firmly in his arms that she couldn’t get enough purchase to precisely aim a kick. If she’d been fully rational, the training her brothers had started giving her might have kicked in, but she was submerged in her rage and her anger and so all she had energy for was thrashing and snarling as they lifted her clear of the mess of sharp broken glass and spilled foodstuffs littering the floor.

She didn’t let up fighting them the whole way out to the field, her strings were swaying and whipping and bulging as she snarled and cursed and thrashed and raged and hissed. She was a wild thing let loose, the consuming rage taking over as the last cornerstone of the monster that HYDRA had tried to build up in her was exposed. It was ugly, she snarled and frothed at the mouth, hands clenching into gnarled claws as she fought and kicked and swung wildly. It took much for this level of anger and hatred and fear and terror to emerge, this feral otherworldly thing. This response so ancient and primal that words did not reach.    

They turned her loose at the edge of the field. The rage was like a living thing, swallowing her so completely that there was no perceivable edge of the Lynn they knew, but they had dealt with this beast before, and they knew the only thing that would appease it. Acceptable targets. Mates, David, and Fred appeared clad head to toe in padding each holding a crash pad on one arm and a baton on the other. Lynn’s state of dress spelled bad news for batons, so Mates quickly collected them and stored them away while Fred and Dave advanced toward Lynn. Soon all that was to be seen or heard was the flurry of arms and legs as Lynn struck out at her brothers with full body attacks and the short sharp vocalizations that accompanied those hits interspersed with still more screaming.

When she wound down a bit, enough that they could all feel the tide of that dark and fathomless rage ease back, Mates pulled hand wraps from a pocket on his cargo pants and Fred produced Lynn’s good boots from behind the bin of clay pigeons as David began speaking softly to her. She was of a mind enough to listen and wrap her hands and replace her footwear before going back to pounding on the pads, this time her strikes were much more coordinated. The boys kept her moving until Lynn folded into a graceless pile in the middle of the field, panting and breathless and physically exhausted. Mates set a water bottle down beside her. Only then did the rest of the clan approach.  


End file.
